Shattered
by jelenamichel
Summary: Alternate end to season eight. A brutally honest conversation between Tony and Ziva shatters their relationship perhaps beyond repair, and impacts everyone around them. But ultimately, this story is about love and what happens when it's lost and found. Heavy angst within, but it all comes down to Tony and Ziva's bond.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is set sometime around _Baltimore_ in season eight, which is when I started writing it. Try to cast your minds back to that period when you read it. It goes AU pretty early on, but uses general storylines from the show as a base.  
Forgive the long author's notes, but I feel a few warnings are necessary before we start. Particularly for those people who follow me because of my happy, love-filled, fluffy Tiva fics.  
Warning 1: This is not a happy, love-filled, fluffy Tiva fic. There will be fighting, anger and significant angst, but also respect and hard-won love. Love—romantic and platonic—between T/Z is still key.  
Warning 2: This is NOT a McGiva fic. No way. Their friendship is extremely important to the story, but there's no romance. So don't freak out in Chapter 1.  
Warning 3: Both Ray and EJ are involved, but I'm not painting them as the bad guys any more than the show did back in season eight. See warning 1.  
****Warning 4: There are some swear words used. I know some people don't like that, but I don't feel like they're particularly gratuitous. And they're not used frequently.**

**Still with me? Try it out. And a big thanks to a bunch of people who looked at this at various stages and provided invaluable advice: Rigil Kent, JMHaughey, jsq79 and erickavv.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

The thing about getting Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs angry was that you could never predict how he was going to make you pay.

This was the thought that was bouncing around Tony DiNozzo's head while he sat at his desk, watching the clock tick through his lunch break. Sometimes when you angered him, retribution came in the form of a swift, sharp smack to the head. Sometimes you got a steely-eyed glare that forced you to correct yourself. Sometimes he'd send you to clean the men's room floor with a toothbrush. And sometimes, if he was feeling extra-super malicious, he would make you wait days for punishment, relying on the psychological damage of anticipation to tear you down and make you beg for forgiveness.

In the ten years that Tony had worked with Gibbs he'd come to prefer the quick, swift head slap. Although it technically amounted to workplace bullying and assault, the slap meant that all was forgiven and the slate was clean. It meant that life could continue as normal without grudges or festering disappointment or guilt. The slap was clean, efficient and quick.

When Tony had arrived at work late that morning, he'd expected nothing more than a slap. After all, it was only a minor offense in the Little Black Book of Gibbs' Law. But when he'd jogged to his desk 20 minutes late and was met with an icy glare that made him literally recoil, he knew he was in for a little more than the Gibbs equivalent of three Hail Marys.

His penance turned out to be a full day of listening to calls to the Port-to-Port killer tip line. Technically they had 'people' to do this kind of work for them. What kind of people, Tony wasn't exactly sure. All he knew was that the tip line was usually handled by some unseen team of gremlins sitting somewhere in the bowels of the building, who would feed viable leads through to the very special agents. Before today, Tony hadn't given those gremlins much thought. Now he was thinking of lobbying Vance on their behalf for a pay rise.

He skipped a message from a caller who was trying to pin the murders on a recent surge in vampire numbers, and then started digging through his desk drawers. It was past lunch, his stomach was grumbling, and none of his team members had offered to grab him a burger when they went out. He thought he'd left some Reece's Pieces in his desk last week, but the peanut butter treats were gone. He sighed in disappointment and then craned his neck to try to see if EJ was at her desk—surely the girlfriend was duty bound to make a trip to the deli for him?—but his eyes instead fell on Abby charging towards him.

Normally the most eye-catching thing about Abby was her spiked dog collar. Today, it was her expression of determination. He watched her with a curious frown as she stood between the four desks belonging to Team Gibbs and spun around like she was checking for witnesses. Finding none, she stepped up to Tony's desk and, eyebrow arched and jaw set, crossed her arms over her chest.

Tony paused the tip line recordings and pulled out his earphones. "What's wrong?"

With almost ninja speed, Abby planted her hands on Tony's desk and stuck her face within inches of his. Tony pulled his head back in surprise, but before he had a chance to question her Caf-Pow! intake his friend was talking at double-Abby-time.

"What's going on with McGee and Ziva?" she demanded.

Tony stared at her as he tried to make his brain work on Abby Speed. He failed. "What?"

Abby pushed her face closer again and narrowed suspicious green eyes. "Are they dating?"

The question was so ridiculous and so unexpected that Tony could do little more than gape at her. "Guh?" he grunted.

The topic had clearly been on Abby's mind for some time, and the fact that Tony seemed to be taking so long to catch up to her train of thought appeared to be trying her patience. "Ziva," she said slowly.

"Yes."

"And McGee," she continued.

"Okay…"

"Are sitting in a tree," she rhymed. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

Tony shook his suddenly spinning head. "_No,_" he said firmly.

Abby stood up straight again, satisfied that she'd made her point, and recrossed her arms. "You haven't noticed how chummy they are lately?"

"Ziva and _McGee_?" he echoed, understanding what she was trying to say, if not jumping on board. "Abby, no. That goes against God and science. There's no way that's happening."

"I would have thought so too, but now I'm not so sure." She dropped her hip onto the corner of his desk and planted the thick toe of her platform shoe into the side of his chair. "Every time I talk to him lately, it's _'Me and Ziva did this,'_ and _'Me and Ziva talked about that,'_ and _'Ziva thinks that blah blah blah.'_ It's all about Ziva. _Every_ time." She cocked her head in question. "Has she been talking to you about him?"

Tony's eyes wandered to Ziva's empty desk as his thoughts ran rampant. "No," he said slowly. "We haven't talked much since…" He trailed off as that weird feeling of betrayal he got whenever he thought about Ziva and EJ in connection to each other filled his stomach. He cleared his throat and looked back at his friend. "Abby, I'm sure nothing's going on. There's no way that could happen right under my nose and I wouldn't know about it."

Abby's expression didn't speak to her confidence in his argument. "Where are they now?"

"Went out to get some lunch."

"Together?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "They _left_ together, but—"

"Did you know they had dinner last night?" Abby cut in.

"So?" he shrugged. "Me and Ziva used to have dinner all the time."

Abby nodded like that proved her point, rather than debunked it. "Exactly. And they've had dinner three other times this week."

"Dinner means nothing," Tony insisted. Even though he was kind of out of the loop with what was going on in his friends' lives there days, he still couldn't make himself give legs to this theory. It was too…icky.

But Abby persisted. "It does if you're doing it four times a week. McGee and I used to go out at least that often when we were dating. And how often do you go out with EJ?"

Tony scratched his chin as he thought that over. "Not that much," he admitted, and then rushed to defend their relationship. "We're both pretty busy. She's tracking a serial killer, you know? And I work for Gibbs so…"

Abby's eyes wandered over to McGee's desk as she swung her foot back into Tony's chair. "I don't know, Tony," she sighed. "They're spending _a lot_ of time together. And they're laughing and going for runs together and—"

"Abby," he said firmly, trying out the tone Gibbs always used to calm her down. "It's your imagination. They're friends. Good friends. That's all."

Abby twisted her lips to the side as she weighed Tony's assurances against her own beliefs. Then she sighed heavily and slumped her shoulders, and Tony figured that she was putting her theory to bed. Her eyes travelled across his earphones and notepad, and then around the empty bullpen.

"So, what sin did you commit against our silver haired pack leader?" she asked.

Tony breathed out a laugh at her ability to put two and two together. "Got in late."

Abby cocked her head to the side. "Why were you late?"

He couldn't suppress the grin that slid across his face. "It was EJ's fault."

Abby gave him a vaguely disappointed look in response. "Tony, you didn't tell _Gibbs_ that, right?"

Tony shook his head. "No, of course not. But his Gibbs Sense was obviously firing on all cylinders this morning, or else I would have gotten off with a slap instead of being sent to the seventh ring of hell known as the tip line."

"Port-to-Port?" Abby asked. "It's not even really our case."

Tony forced a smile. "Gibbs made sure to point out it would be of _great_ help to Agent Barrett."

Abby shot him a sympathetic wince. "He's still pissed about the rule breaking, huh?"

He gestured at his computer monitor. "Five hours of listening to crackpots trying to pin the murders on Ghost Osama and aliens lead me to believe that yes, he is still pissed."

She reached over to pat his head. "There there," she soothed. "He'll get over it. Anything good yet?"

"No," Tony said, and then held up the notebook he'd been doodling on. "Unless you count this awesome drawing of a dinosaur I did."

Abby peered at the blue ink and scrunched her nose. "That's a dinosaur?"

Tony's proud smile fell a little. "It's a T-Rex," he said obviously.

She frowned at him. "T-Rex didn't have wings, Tony."

Tony turned the paper around and stared at the drawing with a critical eye. "You sure?"

"I'm a scientist," she pointed out.

Tony scoffed. "Yeah, but a _forensic_ scientist." He smiled up at her, but when Abby gave him her most neutral face in response, he quickly backpedalled. "Which is also _very_ impressive."

Abby stuck her tongue in her cheek like she was holding back a nasty retort, and the snatched the notepad out of his hands. She turned it and shoved it in his face. "I may be just a forensic scientist with a Masters degree and a Bachelors in chemistry, but I can tell you that this?" She dropped the notepad into his lap. "This is not a T-Rex. It's a dragon."

Tony picked up the notepad again. "It's a pretty cool dragon, though."

"Oh, yeah," she nodded genuinely. "It's great."

His stomach grumbled loudly, and he winced before reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. "Abigail, do you love me enough to go to that deli down the street and grab me a pastrami on rye?" He pulled ten bucks out of his wallet and held it out to her, and then gave her his most pathetic look.

Abby plucked the note from his fingers and slid off his desk. "You need only ask," she said.

"So, you're over the other thing?" he asked as she rounded the back of his desk.

She paused as she tucked Tony's note into her the pocket of her pants. "Nope," she told him. "But I _hope_ you're right. Because if they are dating, Ziva's going to eat him alive. And then? Then I'm going to have to kill her." She gave him a sweet smile, then turned on her heel and marched off to the elevator.

As Tony watched her go, a heavy feeling settled in his chest. The idea of McGee and Ziva in a romantic relationship felt wrong on so many levels, but now that Abby had mentioned it the two of them did seem a little chummier than normal. He honestly had no idea whether they were spending much time together outside of work, but they had been talking more in the bullpen. Sharing jokes, ganging up on Tony, helping each other out and acknowledging each other's work. And Gibbs had been sending Ziva out with McGee a lot more in situations where he'd normally send Ziva with Tony. That didn't mean there was anything romantic going on, but it would give them a lot more time to talk and get to know each other and find themselves in all manner of adrenaline-charged, sexy special agent situations.

He shook his head firmly as he found himself starting to give Abby's crazy idea traction. No, there was no way. They were just friends who'd taken to spending a lot more time with each other, and that was that.

But if that was the case and he really believed it, then what was this bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth?

* * *

Over the rest of the afternoon, Tony found himself paying attention to every exchange between his colleagues. He documented every easy smile and laugh from Ziva, every grin and blush from McGee, every look of fondness and camaraderie that passed between them. If he was a paranoid man, or perhaps even as excitable as Abby, Tony might have given those looks some weight. Yes, that joke of McGee's had sounded more like an attempt at flirting. And yes, that look of Ziva's was the one she used to favor Tony with that always made him wonder. But Tony was determined to keep a level head about this and rely on hard facts. And the facts told him that there was nothing going on.

He had convinced himself that he had enough evidence to take to Abby to prove their innocence. That was until 1800 rolled around and Ziva returned from a quick trip to the bathroom with touched up makeup and neatened up hair.

"Ready, Tim?" she sang out as she leant over her desk and shut down her computer.

McGee pushed his chair back and stood. "Let's go," he said. He switched off his monitor and grabbed his coat and backpack, and then headed over to Ziva.

Tony eyed them suspiciously while McGee hovered at her desk and Ziva wrestled with an uncooperative coat sleeve. "And what are my probies up to this evening?" he asked casually.

Ziva finally got her arm in the sleeve and threw him a shrugged shoulder. "Just having a drink."

Tony leant over his desk. "What's the occasion? Did one of McGee's chest hairs finally come through?"

McGee shot him his patented _I'm being nice even if you're being an ass_ smile. "No occasion. Just having a drink."

Ziva slid her backpack over her shoulder. "You are welcome to join us."

Tony's eyes wandered over the partition behind her for signs of EJ, his date for the night. "No, I've got—"

It was as far as he got before McGee and Ziva both nodded like his refusal was a foregone conclusion and started off towards the elevator.

"Night, then," McGee called.

Tony felt a little stab of jealousy and what felt suspiciously like abandonment as he watched his friends head off without him. But it only lasted a moment. His refusal to join them _was_ a foregone conclusion. He had a different focus now, one that he was excited about and wanted to explore. He was never going to be able to give his relationship with EJ the attention it needed to grow if he was bailing on her to hang out with McGee and Ziva. _Especially_ Ziva.

So it was fine that the two of them were now smiling over some private joke as they waited for the elevator to arrive. And it was fine that Tony would never know what it was that McGee said that made her throw her head back and laugh. But it was less fine when he saw McGee reach out to flip her hair out from under her collar, and by the time he ran his hand down Ziva's spine to rest in the small of her back, alarm bells were ringing.

Jesus Christ, what the _hell_ were they doing?

* * *

"Got you dinner."

Ziva looked at the bag of pretzels that McGee dropped onto the table in front of her. When she'd said she was feeling peckish her thoughts had been running more along the lines of a steak. But given that they were in a semi-dingy cop bar, pretzels were as good as it was going to get.

She picked up the packet and pointed at the label. "With herbs," she read. "McGee, you know how to make a woman feel special."

He grinned at her and slid onto the stool across the table, and then handed her one of the beer bottles he'd carried from the bar. "I would've gotten you the tomato flavored ones, but they were all out."

Ziva tore open the packet, plucked out a pretzel and left the packet in between them. "Did Tony seem sort of…funny to you?"

McGee went for the easy joke. "I'm pretty sure he's mostly only funny to himself."

She kicked him gently under the table. "I meant strange."

McGee shrugged. "Not really." He watched her as she chewed on a pretzel and looked thoughtful. "You think he wanted to come?"

"No," she shook her head. "I think he was looking forward to his plans."

"With EJ," McGee elaborated, just to see how Ziva would react. When he got her Mossad-grade poker face in return, he figured that meant she was annoyed. "So, you still don't like her?"

Ziva shrugged and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I do not _not_ like her," she said. "In fact, I am not sure how I feel about her."

McGee cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "Really."

Ziva's eyes fell to the bottle in her hand, and McGee tried to read the subtleties in her expression. Six years should have been long enough to learn what a friend's tightened lip and barely creased brow meant, but Ziva wasn't an ordinary friend. She was a Mossad-trained assassin who had been taught to hide her feelings. Gibbs and Tony had somehow managed to crack the code over the years, but McGee still too frequently found himself without a clue.

After a few silent moments, Ziva leant forward a little and glanced up at him. "She reminds me of Jenny," she admitted.

Both of McGee's eyebrows went up. He hadn't come close to that comparison before, but now that he thought about it he could see some resemblances. They were two strong-willed, ambitious women determined to prove themselves to their male superiors and subordinates. But the same could be said about a hell of a lot of women out there, Ziva included. And there was one glaring point of difference.

"You were friends with Jenny," he pointed out.

Ziva nodded as a small, almost bittersweet smile crossed her face. "Yes. For a time we were very close. We relied on each other on several missions and I trusted her." The smile faded and she shook her head. "But when I came to NCIS I saw a different side to her. I saw how single-minded and ruthless she could be. How self-serving."

McGee's thoughts wandered to the La Grenoille mission that had almost gotten Tony killed, had certainly broken his heart, and had Jenny breaking federal laws left, right and centre. It had ended in a nightmare that none of them wanted to relive. But he doubted something like that was in EJ's plans.

"You don't think EJ's going to turn out like that, do you?" he asked. Despite her comment from moments ago, McGee was pretty sure that EJ was fairly high on Ziva's current foe list. There was a big, Tony-shaped reason for that, and McGee wasn't going to blame Ziva for feeling hurt. But he didn't want to let Ziva get away with inventing more plausible-sounding reasons for disliking the woman just because she couldn't admit the real reason to anyone but herself.

But Ziva shook her head. "No." She clicked her tongue with frustration. "I don't know. She just reminds me of Jenny."

McGee tipped his beer bottle towards her. "Maybe if you got to know her, then you'd like her."

Ziva shot him the most disgusted look he'd seen in some time. "_You_ get to know her," she threw back.

He smirked at the sudden animation in her face, an alarming contrast to her careful neutrality from moments ago. But he made it clear whose 'side' he was on. "I have enough friends."

Ziva smiled at him gratefully and then dropped the topic. "How are things with Maxine?"

He sighed as a twinge of disappointment shot through him. He'd been seeing Maxine, a hot blonde gamer he'd met on a case for a little over a month. But when he'd had to cut their last date short to attend a scene, he'd seen a look in her eye that he'd seen on plenty of dates in the past. It was a look that said she wasn't comfortable with being number two to his job.

"I think we're over," he told her.

Ziva pursed her lips. "What is her problem?"

"Same as usual," he said with a shrug. "Doesn't like being ditched for a dead guy."

Ziva pursed her lips, and that was one expression that McGee _could_ read. As far as he knew, all of Ziva's past boyfriends had been involved in law enforcement or the military. She'd never had a problem with them not understanding that her job came first because it was the same for them. And he knew that she found it hard to understand why so many civilians couldn't accept the pecking order.

"Well," she began with a philosophical tone, "if it was meant to be you will find a way to work out your difficulties. Normally I would tell you to cut her loose and find someone who appreciated your commitment to protecting the men and women who protect our country—"

"Ziva," he sighed, warning her that he'd already heard that argument from her 100 times too many.

"—but in this case," Ziva went on, "I will just say that I think you should work on things with her. I think there is something there worth pursuing."

McGee nodded. He did too. But that didn't change things. "Yeah, but I can't force her into it, Ziva," he said. "I mean, let's look at this logically. She's a hot young woman living in geek boy world. She doesn't need to wait around for me to make time to see her. She's got hundreds of other options."

Ziva wagged her finger at him. "You are selling yourself thin."

"Short."

"Yes, fine. Short," she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "You are a handsome, intelligent, kind and loyal man, McGee. And you have a lot in common with this woman. If she is smart she will want to see more of you and make some allowances for your responsibilities." She stabbed her finger against the table. "But you should make more of an effort to see her."

McGee sighed. "Yeah, but this is just the beginning part where it's supposed to be easy and fun. And it's already hard work."

"I thought you said she was easy to be with."

"Yeah, she is," he nodded. "When I'm _with_ her, it's easy. And I'm comfortable with her."

Ziva snapped her fingers and pointed at him. "A-ha!" she said triumphantly. "You are _comfortable_ with her."

McGee frowned at her, not sure why she was so pleased by that. "I don't follow."

She sighed, and McGee couldn't help but think she was disappointed that he didn't immediately understand her. "Comfortable, McGee, is hard to find," she lectured. "It is rare to find a person who you can be yourself with. Your real self, faults and all. And to remain confident that even if they see all those parts of you that you do not like, they will still accept you and want to be with you." She caught her thoughts just as they started to run away from her and took a calming breath. "Do you feel that way about Maxine?"

McGee slid his bottle back and forth between his hands as he thought it over. "I think maybe I could, one day soon."

Ziva nodded knowingly. "Then you should make more time to see her."

He smiled at her. "Okay. I promise."

"Good."

He eyed her as she sipped her beer and wondered about the root of her speech. "Have you spoken to Ray yet?"

"No," she replied, her tone clipped and not inviting further discussion.

McGee ignored the warning. "Why not?"

Her gaze fell away from his. "I do not know what to say to him yet that is not an expletive," she muttered. "I have nothing useful to say."

"Can't say something nice, don't say anything at all, huh?"

"Yes."

McGee didn't let her get away with that. "Well, that works when you're five, Ziva. But not when you're a grown-up and trying to work out problems with your boyfriend."

Ziva sniffed and muttered into her beer bottle. "Who said I want to work out our problems? Maybe I want to close the door on him for good."

He looked at her carefully. "Is that what you want to do?"

She tapped the bottle against her chin as she thought it over. "I am not sure," she finally said, and then pointedly looked away from him. That was another expression of hers that McGee was familiar with. _Conversation over_.

He intended to let her have it after he made one more comment. "You can't ignore him forever, Ziva."

She nodded as a suspicious wet glint filled her eyes. "I know," she said softly. "I just need some more time."

* * *

**Repeat: Not a McGiva fic. See? They're just friends.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: As always, I am blown away by the responses you guys send my way. Thanks for all your kind words on the first chapter. To show my appreciation, you get chapter two now instead of having to wait a week. This is the chapter where the story really starts, and where I (hopefully) really start to break your hearts. I think a conversation like this is long overdue.  
A few people mentioned that they were struggling to remember what happened at the end of season eight, when this is set. All you need to remember is that the team was chasing the Port-to-Port killer, Tony was still with EJ, and Ziva and Ray had just broken up because he was a lying liar who lies.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

"You're in early, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony glanced at the clock on the dash of his Mustang before smiling up at the young marine guarding the gates of the Navy Yard. "It's 0600, Lowe," Tony called out the window. "That's about lunchtime for you, isn't it?"

Lowe smirked as he nodded his head at his colleague to raise the boom gate. "For me," he confirmed. "But we don't usually see you here at this time unless you're on your way home."

Tony splayed his hands. "What can I say? I'm on _el jefe's_ naughty list this week."

"Well, congratulations. You beat him in," Lowe told him, and then pointed towards the main building. "You need to get up even earlier to beat Agent Badass, though."

"David's here?"

"Ran past just two minutes ago," Lowe told him. "She was going pretty fast, too. Looked like she was making some pretty good time."

Tony's gut tensed when he thought about his partner, but he just waved at Lowe in thanks and let his foot off the brake. "Okay. Have a good one."

He rolled through the gates and steered the Mustang along the maze of narrow roads to the car park nearest the NCIS building as his gut continued to twist. He'd been thinking about Abby's theory all night to the point of distraction. He'd watched _The Pink Panther_ over Thai takeout with EJ, and while he was supposed to be delivering his Clouseau impersonation he'd instead been playing that touch McGee had given Ziva's back—more like a _caress_, he'd decided later while he was lying in bed and unable to sleep—over and over in his head. It had just been so…_personal_. Too personal for a colleague, as far as Tony was concerned. And the way Ziva had thrown her head back and laughed at whatever _McGee_ of all people had said just didn't sit right with him. Tony was confident that he was ten times funnier than McGee, and the only time he'd ever been able to make Ziva laugh like that was through embarrassing himself. Clearly, that had been the laugh of a woman who was flirting her ass off.

It was past 0300 when Tony had decided he had to talk to Ziva about it. He didn't _want _to, exactly. Well…okay, part of him did want to make it clear to her that embarking on a relationship with McGee was a very, very bad idea that she had to avoid. But there was also a sick and nervous feeling in his stomach that was looking forward to the conversation about as much as a root canal with no anesthetic and electrodes attached to his testicles. It had the very real and terrifying risk of turning personal, and he and Ziva had never been very good at that. Still, he felt it was his responsibility as Senior Field Agent to lay down the law to his probies before word reached Gibbs.

Before heading down to the locker room he stopped by his desk to put down his backpack and coffee. He wanted to give Ziva enough time to finish her shower, but not so much that she could finish up and come up to the bullpen before Tony had a chance to talk to her. It wasn't a conversation he wanted to have in an office full of other agents. It required privacy.

When he reached the locker room Ziva was standing in front of the mirror blow-drying her hair. She hadn't finished getting dressed; she was just in jeans, her blue bra and bare feet. Her hair was flipped in front of her face while she blasted it with the dryer, so Tony let himself appreciate the half-naked sight for just a few moments before he peeked around the wall to survey the rest of the room. All the shower doors were open and no one else was around, so Tony walked in and took a seat on the bench behind her to wait for her to finish.

The hairdryer ran forever as Ziva ran her fingers though her thick curls, and Tony tried hard not to dwell on the nice, warm feeling of familiarity watching her get ready brought to the centre of his chest. It wasn't a new experience. He'd seen her go through her morning ritual a handful of times before. She was a friend. A close partner. Seeing each other like this was _not_ a big deal. Hell, even McGee had seen her disheveled—

Tony sucked in a breath at the strong, sharp stab of jealousy the thought sent through his chest. Because that was the point of all this. McGee was seeing her not just in the morning with her face bare and hair wild and without the armor she put on for the rest of the world. He was seeing her _completely_ bared. Ziva was granting him that level of trust and intimacy when it was _Tony_ who had spent the better part of six years waiting to be the one to receive it.

How had McGee ended up getting what Tony had expected for himself? What the hell did McGee have that Ziva had decided Tony lacked? For that matter, what the hell did _Ray_ have? Or Michael goddamn Rivkin?

The hairdryer shut off abruptly and Tony barely had time to shake off the jealous expression he could feel sitting on his face before Ziva spoke.

"Do we have a case?"

He looked at her reflection in the mirror and frowned at her awareness of his presence. "How did you know I was here? You haven't even looked at me yet."

She didn't bother answering his question. "What's going on?"

He felt her bad mood start to creep across the tiles towards him but tried to repel it. He had to at least make an attempt at being calm and mature about this. "I just wanted to talk to you about something."

"Sure." The word invited further conversation but her tone did not, and Tony had to wonder why she was apparently so pissed at him today. It got his back up, and his tone got slightly harder.

"I want to talk to you about McGee." He watched her reflection closely for a reaction, but she gave no sign of guilt or concern that Tony might know something that she didn't want him to know.

"Uh-huh."

He swallowed and took a breath. "Are you two seeing each other?"

Ziva's fingers, painted white with moisturizer, froze halfway to her face and her eyes slid across the mirror to look at him. Tony was well acquainted with what an angry Ziva looked like, and this was an excellent example. Usually he would think about backing off a little, but not today. His pride was in the way, and their history was too messed up and their relationship too complicated for him to just walk away without an answer. He wanted—_deserved_—an explanation from her.

But it was an explanation that Ziva seemed indignant about giving. "Who do you think you are?" she demanded.

It wasn't the flat out 'no' Tony had wanted, but he rolled with it and let her anger start to fuel him. In an effort to save face, he pulled rank. "I am your senior field agent and—" He cut himself off when she suddenly spun and hurled a medium-sized cosmetic tube at him. He instinctively ducked but caught it against his chest. "Hey!" he cried, stunned.

Ziva turned her back to him again and angrily swiped moisturizer over her face. "You're an asshole, that's what you are," she ground out, her voice shaking.

Anger fired in his chest at what he felt was an overreaction, but he made a last ditch effort at keeping it professional instead of personal. "I'm looking out for this te—"

"You don't get to have it both ways," she burst in. "You don't get to come in here and ask me that."

She was making it personal and still not answering the question, so he baited her. "So, you are seeing him?"

Ziva glared at him in the mirror. "No, you _idiot_. Of course not."

"Then why are you so—"

"Because you are not asking because you are worried about team dynamics," she said, getting straight to the heart of the matter instead of pussyfooting around it like Tony had. "Do not lecture me about rules, Tony. Do not act like this is not all about your ego."

Angry, defensive eyes met hers in the mirror, and his lips parted in preparation for a firm denial. But when her face dared him to argue the point, Tony found that he couldn't. This _was_ all about his ego. About what he saw as his unceremonious dumping from the pillar he thought she had him on. Since she first slouched into their lives it had always been Tony who had filled the seat across the barroom table from her after work. It had been Tony who she would share small pieces of herself with. Tony who she had the greatest bond with. The fact that McGee now seemed to be filling his shoes drove him crazy, and Ziva was calling him out on it. No, he couldn't argue with her. But he couldn't admit she was right, either, because that would mean admitting to the existence of something that they'd both spent so much time and energy on pretending didn't exist.

The fire went out of him and he dropped his gaze to the tiled floor, taking a few moments to recover from the verbal bitchslap he hadn't been expecting. He certainly hadn't gone into this conversation expecting that she would appreciate being questioned or told what to do. But he hadn't expected that it would become all about the two of them so fast. Perhaps he should have. Perhaps he'd been clutching at straws to think that he ever had a hope of keeping the conversation purely about the work.

He believed her about McGee, though. At least he didn't have to worry about watching the two of them fall in love in front of his face. But he didn't know what it all meant for Ray. He knew that she was mad at him and had even refused to speak to him for a while, but since she was barely talking to Tony either he didn't know what was going on. He knew she probably wouldn't appreciate him asking, but since she was already annoyed with him Tony figured he may as well keep going.

"Have you talked to Ray?"

"No," she replied swiftly.

Tony's thoughts drifted to the conversation he had with Ray in the men's room. The CIA agent barely knew him, and yet he'd been open with him about what he wanted from his relationship with Ziva and what he felt for her. Tony had almost been crippled with envy over how easy it seemed for Ray to be honest about it, and sickened with worry over the thought that this guy could come along out of nowhere, steal the heart Tony had been trying to find the backbone to claim for years, and live happily ever after in the life Tony had wanted. Ziva had seemed happy, he supposed. She hadn't been singing and doing cartwheels, but she'd seemed comfortable and content. The jealousy Tony still felt over that was only rivaled by his guilt. Guilt that he didn't want her to have it with anyone but him, and guilt that he was even thinking that when he was currently in a relationship with EJ that he was enjoying.

Could his emotions possibly be any more screwed up?

He tried to take himself out of the equation and think about what was best for Ziva. Ray did love her. There was no denying it. And if she knew it, Tony felt that Ziva would probably forgive Ray for his transgressions and focus on what was important.

"I think you should talk to him," he told her gently, trying to do the right thing by her. "I think he's probably got some things to say that you'll want to hear."

Ziva snorted with derision as she pulled her hair straightener out of her gym bag. "What? Like he loves me and wants to marry me?" She plugged the straightener in as she shook her head, and added softly, "I know he does."

Tony supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that Ray had told her, but he was. Ray seemed to want to give her what Ziva herself had told Tony she wanted, so he couldn't work out why she was still keeping her distance. "And you still won't talk to him?"

Ziva's eyes snapped to his in the mirror, and he recognized the tension in her mouth. "He lied to me," she said sharply.

"But—"

"I have spent my life being lied to and used by men, Tony," she said, righteous anger growing within her again. "Every last one of you has taken advantage of me in some way. Except for two. Tim McGee and Ducky. My husband will be the third. I will not put up with lies from the man I commit my life to."

_Every last one of you?_ The line echoed in his head, and while he now understood where she was coming from about Ray, Tony's own righteous anger built as the implication of her words sank in. Yes, he'd lied to her in the past, but never over anything important. Had he? And hell, what about all the times he'd risked his neck—literally—to do right by her? What about all the times he'd had her back? What about all the times he'd held her up and been her friend? Didn't all the good he'd done outweigh the small lies? Wasn't he a hundred times more dependable than the assholes she seemed to have a knack for attracting into her life? Hadn't he proven himself to be nothing like those pieces of crap?

"Don't you dare lump me into the same category as your father and Ari and Michael Rivkin, Ziva," he said darkly.

Instead of looking contrite, Ziva spun and pointed at him accusingly with her hair straightener. "You spent a _year_ lying to me!"

"_When?_"

"You let me believe you were sick!" she charged, breathing heavily as she finally got it off her chest. "You let me worry and panic."

He realized she was talking about his relationship with Jeanne Benoit, but it seemed so out of left field in the conversation they were having about current relationships that it took him a few moments of silence before he could argue his side. "I couldn't tell you about the operation," he said obviously.

"I _know_ that you couldn't," she replied irritably. "I understand orders, Tony. I am not stupid. And I know that you did not want to talk to me about the relationship for reasons that had _nothing_ to do with the operation itself. But you did not have to let me believe that you were sick enough to receive ongoing medical treatment at the hospital."

Tony threw his hands up in exasperation. "Okay! I am very sorry for making you worry about something that happened _four years ago_."

"You should have apologized four years ago," she threw at him, and then turned to face the mirror again.

He didn't know if the sight of her back to him was supposed to be her way of ending the argument or not, but she'd gotten him angry enough now that he wasn't going to drop it. Professionalism was out the window as he aimed raging indignation at her. "Hey! Stop trying to make me out to be some insensitive asshole who doesn't respect our relationship. And don't act like you're Little Miss Open Book. The secrets you keep from me could fill the Grand Canyon."

Ziva had the gall to roll her eyes. "Well, I am sorry that I do not share your need to discuss every small detail of my life," she drawled.

He knew she meant to get under his skin and wound him. He knew she was doing it on purpose. And he knew the mature thing to do would have been to end the argument and leave so they could both calm down. But he wasn't interested in being mature. This fight had been brewing for years, and all he felt like doing right now was wounding her back. So he took aim and fired.

"But you don't share _anything!_" he bit out. "That first night we met you told me about Tali, and I swear to God that's the only piece of yourself you've ever given me freely. Everything else I know about you has been wrenched out of you only after you've decided that there's no way I can possibly use the information against you!"

She turned and opened her mouth to argue, but he'd had enough of her cutting him off tonight and steamrolled over her. "Do you know how goddamn infuriating and hurtful that is? I've had your back for six years and you won't even trust me when _I'm_ the one warning you that someone's using you. You don't trust me enough to come to me when you're in trouble, even if I'm your boss at the time. You won't even trust me with the real story of how Ari died!"

The blow landed dead centre, and Ziva's eyes widened with the shock of it. Her fist tightened around the straightener before she put it down purposefully, as if curbing the urge to shove it into his face. For a few seconds they just held heated gazes, silent but for their heavy breathing. He kept his defensive shields up, ready to deflect whatever attack she would launch in reply, but then her shoulders dropped and she seemed to back away from her anger.

"I am your partner," she said, and he heard the effort she devoted to keeping her tone calm. "It is my job to protect you from becoming party to information that could see you get hurt, or arrested, or killed."

He shook his head firmly. "No. As your partner it's _my_ job to get into trouble with you so I can watch your back and help you get out of it again."

Ziva sighed and leaned back against the counter. She crossed her arms, pushing her breasts together, and Tony wondered if she even realized that she was still half naked in front of him. "This should not be about trust, Tony."

"But that's exactly what it's about. It's exactly what Rivkin was about."

She shook her head sadly and her eyes wandered for a moment. "There was so much more going on with him that I simply couldn't…Not with you…" Her voice faltered and she looked away. After two deep breaths she moved on. "I know I do not talk about my past very much with you. But it has nothing to do with a lack of trust. And I have tried to address this, because I know it bothers you."

Tony leaned forward and rested his elbow on his knees, trying to bridge a little of the gap that had formed this morning. "Is it a lack of faith?" he asked gently. "Do you think that I'll see you differently if you tell me about your life in Mossad?"

She chewed her lip as she looked at him with sad eyes, and Tony felt a stab in his chest when he realized he had guessed right. "I don't know how you could not," she said softly. "And I do not want you to. I do not want you to look at that girl or spend too much time in her company. I am not her anymore. She is gone. And I don't want her to come back."

He knew enough about what she'd done under her father's orders to accept that it was how she really felt. Making her talk about it would be akin to punishment or torture, and she'd had enough of both in her life to last two lifetimes. He let it go.

"Yeah."

She gave him a fleeting look of thanks before slowly turning back to the mirror again. She drove her thumbs along opposite sides of her head under her ears, and when they met at the back of the head she lifted a large section of her wild curls and twisted it up. She secured the section against her head with a clip, and then ran her fingers through the fringe of hair at the base of her neck before picking up the straightener again. Tony watched as she drew the iron down her hair, and the curls he'd always loved started to disappear under a fog of steam. Tony wore suits as his amour. Maybe Ziva's straight hair was hers.

"Why do you do that? Erase the curls?"

Her eyes flicked to his. "You are going to argue with me about my hair now?"

He shook his head. Maybe she just liked it better this way. "No."

They fell back into silence as Ziva kept working on her hair and Tony stared at the floor. After an uncomfortable minute, Ziva lost patience.

"Was that all?"

It should have been. He'd gotten an answer about her relationship with McGee, and a bonus answer about the state of her relationship with Ray. He shouldn't have been thinking about pushing it further, but he was feeling stubborn, crazy and brave, and he didn't want to put an end to the honesty now. "No."

"In your own time," she muttered.

He held the end of the cosmetic tube she'd thrown at him and smacked it against the fingers of his other hand as he thought about how to approach his next phase of questioning. She was sick of lies and dishonesty, so he decided to just come straight out with it.

"I understand why you're mad at me this morning," he began. "But it feels like you've been mad for longer than that."

Ziva finished the first batch of her hair, undid the clip, and started the sectioning process again. "You don't want to do this," she warned.

But Tony decided to press the issue. He didn't understand how their relationship had gotten so far away from them, and he was sick of it keeping him up at night. "Please tell me why you're mad."

Ziva shook her head. "I am not mad."

"You don't talk to me," he pointed out.

"You _won't_ talk to me," Ziva returned, refusing to shoulder all the blame for the mess between them.

Their eyes met in the mirror as he considered denying it, but he knew she was probably right. He rubbed his head and suddenly felt bone tired. It wasn't even 0700 yet and he was already emotionally exhausted.

"You don't want to do this, Tony," she repeated with finality. "It will be ugly, and you know it."

That was an understatement, and Tony was tempted to walk away and leave it be. But something told him that if they didn't address it then and there, they never would. A missed chance on top of all the other missed chances of their relationship. Silence had been what got them here, and he just couldn't put up with it anymore.

"No, let's do it," he said, pulling himself up as determination pushed aside his weariness. "Let's have it out. Let's get it out of the way so that we can be friends again."

Ziva finished another section and let her hair fall down her back again. "We will never be friends," she said tightly.

The comment was like a knife through his chest. So, that was it? She was giving up on their entire friendship because he hadn't given her the whole truth about Jeanne and wanted her to share more about herself with him? Or was it his relationship with EJ? Was she not prepared to be anything more than co-workers while he was seeing her? It hardly seemed fair, particularly since he'd taken her relationships with Ray and Rivkin on the chin.

"You are not going to be that petty," he said in disbelief.

Ziva dropped her head to the side momentarily, as if she was tired of having to explain things to him. Then she looked at him levelly. "Tony, I am your partner. I will be your partner and watch your back until the day I die. I would go to the ends of the earth for you, and I will beat to death with my bare hands anyone who would harm you." She let that sink in before shaking her head. "But we have never been friends, and we never will be."

For the first time that morning, Tony felt tears burn the back of his eyes. How could she be devoted to him in one breath and push him away with the next? "Why not?" he asked, and cursed himself when his voice failed on the second word.

He watched her swallow hard and was sure that her eyes welled before she blinked away whatever emotion she felt and removed her gaze from his. "Because. You cannot be friends with someone you have…" She went silent abruptly, as if the word had gotten stuck in her throat. But he heard it anyway.

_Loved._

And finally, Tony caught on. Since day one of their relationship, their attraction had been in the way. They had never discussed it and never made a bold move towards taking it further, but that attraction, want and what had slowly turned into love had been with them in one form or another for years. It had shaped the way they spoke to each other and interacted. It had been the thing that had caused them to forge such a tight partnership. Everything they had between them had been built upon this all-encompassing connection they had. And it was too big, too strong, too deep to ever escape. There was no way that either of them would ever just be able to sweep away that foundation, start building all over again and expect their relationship to look any different the second time around. There was no way that they could ever just start again as friends. But if they weren't friends, and they weren't lovers, then where the hell did that leave them? As co-workers? Family? Was he supposed to feel nothing different for her than he did for Abby or McGee?

He felt a short, sharp stab in his chest as he considered all that he had to lose here. And all that he had already lost. Ziva had essentially just admitted to being in love with him, but he knew she was only doing it now because things between them had deteriorated so much that they'd both tried to fill the hole with other people. She was admitting it only within the safety of knowing that it would never, ever happen for them. She was admitting it because it was over.

He cleared his throat, but his voice was still ragged and weak when he spoke. "So, we're never going to be friends."

"No."

Tony's eyes fell to the ground by her feet and his vision blurred. He hadn't just lost her as a hope for the future. He'd lost her as just about everything else. She really was just a co-worker now, and Jesus, maybe she had been for months but he just hadn't realized. Even with Ray and EJ on the scene, he hadn't realized. But now that he did…God, it hurt _so much_.

"Tony, I am not trying to punish you," she said softly.

He looked up at her again, and the raw sadness in her face made him believe her. He believed her because he finally understood that her mood lately was not about anger with him, but about her own self-protection, sadness and even hurt.

"I want you to be happy," she told him. "I do. Because you are family and I want you to get everything you want in life." Her eyes drifted for a moment as she took a breath for courage, and he braced himself for more pain. "But I cannot be a front row spectator to what you are exploring right now with Agent Barrett. And you cannot ask me to be. You cannot ask me to stand here as your friend and cheer you on."

Well Christ, did she really think he would expect her to? Did she feel like he'd been rubbing the relationship in her face? He had been trying to be discreet, and had thought that he hadn't done too badly at it. Was she trying to 'dump' him but also dictate that he couldn't even _look_ at another woman in her presence?

He opened his mouth to argue the point, but quickly shut it again. They'd been more honest with each other in the last 20 minutes than they had been in the last six years, but it didn't actually seem to be getting them anywhere good. In fact, it felt like it was just dragging them across broken glass. Perhaps keeping his mouth shut and feelings repressed had been the right way to deal with her after all.

Ziva caught him hesitating though, and she was unfortunately still on board the honesty train. "Say it," she challenged.

It was only a little push, but it was enough to get him going. "I just feel like you're making me out to be the bad guy here. It's like you're saying you're hurt because I cheated on you, but…" He stopped himself before he argued that he hadn't. Technically, he really hadn't done anything wrong, and neither had she by starting a relationship with Ray. But this whole goddamn argument was about the lack of technicalities in their relationship. _Technically_ they shouldn't even have been having this conversation, because they weren't lovers and never had been. It should have been black and white. But it wasn't. Their relationship was a thousand shades of grey, and _'technically'_ had never had a place with them. "You were physically faithful to Ray. But emotionally, you were cheating because you're still…" He trailed off when he reached the limit of the honesty he could deliver. But he knew she'd hear what wasn't said, just as he'd heard her before.

_Because you're still in love with me_.

Ziva looked fleetingly humiliated, but before he could dwell on it for too long she swallowed, straightened her spine and lifted her chin defiantly. "And you are being completely faithful to Agent Barrett, are you?"

He stared back at her, his silence acting as his admission of guilt, until enough tears had gathered in his eyes that he knew they were just a blink away from spilling. He turned his head from her once more and struggled to find composure as Ziva went back to ironing the curls out of her hair. This was it, he realized. This was the moment when she stopped allowing him to keep her as a back up while he tried things out with EJ. This was the moment where the choice between the two of them was taken away from him. This was the moment when he had to face up to the loss of her and find a way to move on.

"So, I can't have it both ways," he stated, repeating her earlier comment.

Ziva set aside her hair iron and reached into her gym bag for her t-shirt. "You made your choice," she said softly, before slipping the shirt over her head and covering herself up. She wouldn't be baring herself to him anymore. "We both did. And for you, it is the right one. Now you must abide by it."

He dropped his head to rub his face with his hand as their relationship crumbled even more around him. Choice? What if he hadn't made the right choice? Because God, he did love Ziva. He loved her down to his bones, and he thought he probably always would. But she was _so hard_. Everything about getting close to her and loving her was a challenge, whereas EJ was so easy. She was easy to be with, and he never found himself sighing with tired frustration as she misunderstood something that he had to spell out for her. He seemed to have more in common with her than he did with Ziva—their backgrounds were similar and they'd done the same kind of things when they were kids—and he never felt like he had to worry about keeping her, or himself, safe from the secrets of her past. With Ziva, he'd always felt like part of the reason they'd never really tried to make it happen was that they already knew it wouldn't work. Not while they were on the same team. Maybe not even while they were at the same agency. And if they didn't have NCIS between them, would they even have anything to talk about at all? Was the agency the only thing that had kept them coming back to each other over the years?

A lump formed in his throat as he finally let the half-formed fears he'd always had take centre stage in his head. What if he was only in love with the idea of Ziva? Falling in love with the sexy, exotic, kick ass partner who was always by his side sounded like the plot to a great movie, but surely it couldn't work in real life where they argued all the time. They couldn't even agree on the correct pronunciation of '_tiramisu'_. How the hell would they be able to agree on important relationship things like how many kids to have and how they should raise them?

He knew he should let go. Really, it would be better for them both in the long run, if not goddamn agony in the short term. And yet, he didn't think that he could commit to walking away. He couldn't just say _'I'm done, it's over'_. Even if there had technically never been an _it_. But on the other hand, he wasn't yet willing to give up on EJ for Ziva just because one day, if all the stars aligned just right, he and Ziva might work out. He never had believed in destiny, and he wasn't about to start now.

He looked up at her reflection and found her watching him with sad eyes. She was already in mourning for the end of their affair, and in the end, even if he put his hand on his heart right now and told her he was breaking up with EJ because he wanted to try things with her, he knew she wouldn't go for it. She'd made it clear to him that she was done, and he had to accept it.

He felt sick to the stomach as he got to his feet. Hurt and humiliated and upset that control of the decision had been taken from him. The juvenile urge to hurt her for hurting him grew in his chest, and his bitterness over the whole screwed up situation pushed a final, aching argument from his lips.

"For the record, _you_ gave up first."

Ziva blinked at him with mild confusion as she tried to understand his words. It didn't take her long to realize he was talking about her taking up with Ray, and although she looked guilty, she didn't apologies and she didn't fight. "Yes."

Well, great, he thought. Now that they'd established that, did he feel any better? No, he definitely didn't In fact, he felt worse. "Why?" he asked.

"What?"

"Why did you give up?"

Ziva braced her hands on the counter, hung her head and sighed with the weight of the world before looking over him with raw pain that stole his breath. "Because, Tony. I am _so tired_ of pretending." She paused as her words sank in, and he recalled a time in the elevator when their wires had gotten crossed. "I simply could not keep it up. I could not keep doing it. Not to either of us."

It was a fair point. Tony definitely understood the feeling. But he couldn't help but think that if he'd had advance warning of how close she was to giving up, then things might have gone in a different direction. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did," she insisted, looking at him like she couldn't believe he was asking.

"When?"

"Two years ago."

Tony's mouth went dry. That was when they'd been in that elevator and having that conversation, but he couldn't believe she'd actually been on the edge of giving up since then. Yeah, she was tired of pretending. But there was tired and then there was exhausted. Why had she never said she was exhausted?

"Besides," she went on. "I could not have brought it up with you again. Because this…" she paused and gestured between them, "…does not exist. What would we talk about, Tony? It _never happened_."

He stared back at her, miserable and heartbroken. He wanted to argue with her. He wanted to plead that _yes, yes it did_. And it happened for a long time. But really, it hadn't, and that was exactly her point. Somehow, they had managed to have a six-year relationship that had never happened.

"Do you blame me for that?" he had to ask.

Ziva frowned with empathy as she shook her head. "No, of course not. Do you blame me?"

"No," he replied, and it was the truth. He could have tried to blame Gibbs and his rules, but it wasn't his fault either. It just was what it was.

Ziva sent him the ghost of a grateful smile, and then turned back to her things on the counter. He sensed that this was the time to leave, but he hovered for a moment as he acknowledged to himself that this was, hands down, the worst break up he had ever had, and that it was likely to leave him bitter and pining for her for the rest of his life. The only way to deal with it was to move on, and before he could move on he had to give her a proper goodbye.

He stepped over to her, and Ziva looked up at him as his shirt brushed against her elbow. Part of him knew this was just torturing them both more than they needed, but he couldn't help himself. They'd never even gotten this far before. As Ziva watched him with trepidation, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and then leaned in to kiss her softly. He lingered long enough to give her time to kiss him back, but it was over in just a matter of moments. Tony closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers as he tried to find a way to word his goodbye, but he failed. He shouldn't have been surprised when Ziva lifted her hand to cup his cheek and came to his rescue.

"_Shalom._" Hello, goodbye and peace. Tony was sure she was telling him the last two.

He took a deep breath, turned his head and pressed a fleeting kiss to her wrist. "Bye," he whispered, and then took a step backwards turned, and walked out of the change room without looking at her again.

That was the end of them.

* * *

**Well, I did say that it wasn't going to be a happy, love-filled Tiva fic, right? Before you throw flames, just let me say that I am _really_ trying to give an accurate representation of their relationship during that period. Neither of them was the bad guy, neither was the good guy. It just sucked all around for both of them (and us).**  
**Have faith in me, peeps. Take a deep breath and just have faith before giving up on me. I promise I've thought this through.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I don't think I've ever received a bigger response to anything I've posted as I did to the last chapter. I've been absolutely overwhelmed. Thank you for all your lovely reviews and for reading along. I'm terrible at responding to reviews, but I show my gratitude by posting another chapter.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

A week after the break up that wasn't really a break up, Tony sat at his desk and tried to lose himself in his report on the case the team had just closed. He was finding it hard to concentrate today, and he couldn't work out why. Sure, having Ziva sitting ten feet from him had been a torturous distraction that he'd been fighting all week, but that wasn't what was bothering him this morning. That distraction wouldn't fully kick in until he found himself standing close enough to her to smell her, and his heart and head would go to war over whether it would be more painful to have had her and then lost her than to have never had her at all.

But right now, his distraction was indefinable. There was just something in the air that had the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention and his gut heavy with the gravity of an unknown threat. Normally he'd look to Gibbs to see if he was showing any signs that his gut was talking to him, but the boss and McGee had headed to the basement to talk to Abby, and it was just him and Ziva left in the uncomfortable silence of the bullpen. Well, it was uncomfortable for _him_. Ziva was completely poker faced this week, and he was bothered by how well she seemed to be dealing with the 'thing' that had happened. The fact that he knew it was all an act didn't help. In her unguarded moments—usually they happened at about two in the morning in the dim light of the bullpen—he would catch the sadness in her eyes when she looked at him. Then he would forget that he wasn't supposed to show her any affection and look at her with empathy as his throat closed painfully. Usually that was all it took for Ziva to catch herself and wipe the emotion from her face, and then Tony would feel like crap again and avoid looking at her for the next hour. Sometimes he'd get up and go in search of EJ who was working even longer hours than him, and he'd corner her for a quick and dirty make out session in a dark corner that wiped away the feeling of abandonment that made his stomach sick and his eyes burn. He wasn't sure if EJ was buying his happy smiles, demanding hands and increased appetite for hard and fast sex at home, but she hadn't sat him down and tried to get to the bottom of the issue yet. Tony thought that probably meant one of two things: she already knew the reason why he was attempting to throw himself at their relationship, and she didn't want to talk about it until she felt more comfortable and secure of her place; or she simply wasn't paying enough real attention to him, didn't know how to read him yet, or wasn't interested in delving into his moods.

To be honest, he wasn't sure which one he was hoping for.

He was fairly certain that Ziva knew what was going on. Even from a distance that she hadn't kept herself at since she first joined the team, his…co-worker was acutely attuned to him. Of course she hadn't said anything to him, or even shot him knowing looks across her desk. But McGee of all people had started asking him on a daily basis whether he was "doing okay" and noting that he seemed "kind of sad". Tony could only imagine the conversations Ziva and McGee had been having in the last week, and he _hated_ that he wasn't able to argue his side of the story. He supposed he could have taken McGee aside and unloaded on him, but that would be hard to do when he was so busy acting like everything in his life was just great and he was totally happy and content.

Damn it, where was EJ? He had the urge to get another hit of denial-assisting ass.

He looked up from his computer, and his eyes swept the bullpen until they got stuck on Ziva. She was glaring at her computer screen with an intensity she usually reserved for conversations with her father, and her jaw looked so tight he thought it might lock into position if she wasn't careful. He swallowed down the twinge of pain looking at her brought to his chest and attempted the casual…co-worker conversation level they had been striving to perfect in the last few days.

"What's that look for?" he asked her. "Everything okay? Or did you just find out they've taken mojitos off the menu at that bar down the street?"

Ziva cut her eyes over to him, not bothering to soften the intensity of her glare. "What?" she asked sharply.

He gestured uselessly towards her with his pen and gave it another shot before giving up completely. "You look upset. About your report, or something," he quickly added, making sure that she didn't think he was referring to being upset about _them_.

Ziva blinked and then sighed. Her shoulders slumped and her jaw relaxed, and she shook her head before returning her gaze to her computer. "No. I mean, yes. It is just freezing every three words."

"You try turning it off and then turning it back on again?"

Ziva shot him a look of exasperation that felt way too familiar and oddly affectionate before looking away again.

"It's kind of the limit of my technical expertise," he told her.

The barest of smiles pulled at the corner of her mouth. "I know. I am not much better."

"Better at what, David?" Gibbs asked as he breezed into the bullpen, a coffee in his hand and McGee in his wake.

"Computers," she said, and then looked pleadingly at McGee. "Can you please fix this? It keeps freezing."

McGee leaned over her shoulder, and Tony tried not to choke on his jealousy at the sight. "I think you've got too many programs running," he told her. He clicked around a few times, and a moment later Tony heard the computer's familiar start up chime. "Just restart it. It should be fine."

McGee headed back to his desk and Ziva's eyes drifted over to Tony. He aimed his first genuine smile at her for the whole week, and Ziva chuckled in response. The brief exchange felt ridiculously good, but it only lasted a few seconds before he caught sight of EJ stepping out of the elevator and heading towards him. One look at her ashen face told him that the noises his gut had been making all day were warranted, and he swallowed and braced for impact. EJ gave him a look that seemed to confirm that she came bearing bad news, but then bypassed him and went to Ziva's desk. She stood there for several silent seconds, her hands fisting and flexing at her sides with what appeared to be nerves. The bad feeling in Tony's gut spread through his whole body, and while he wanted to stand up and drag her away from doing whatever the hell she was planning on doing, he couldn't make his body comply.

After EJ had hovered far longer than was polite, Ziva looked up at her and fixed her with an impassive stare. "Did you want something, Agent Barrett?" she asked, her tone devoid of inflection.

Tony watched EJ swallow hard before walking around the side of Ziva's desk and crouching in front of her. Ziva looked at her strangely before cutting a look at Tony that he read loud and clear. If EJ was about to start making speeches about their screwed up little triangle, Ziva was going to go the full Mossad on her. Tony barely shook his head at her in response. He had _no idea_ what she was planning. And he was terrified.

"I just got a call," EJ finally said, and the empathy in her tone put Tony on alert for something bigger than he'd imagined. "I was supposed to have a meeting, but…"

As she trailed off into silence, Tony glanced at Gibbs and McGee. Both of them were watching this play out, and Tony had the sudden and strong urge to start screaming _'Fire! Fire!'_ just to create a distraction and end this. But his voice was as uncooperative as his body.

"And?" Ziva prompted.

EJ glanced at Tony with something akin to apology in her eyes before taking a breath and stepping into her federal agent shoes. "Special Agent Cruz was found murdered this morning across town," she stated, leaving no room for misunderstanding. "Another agent at the CIA just called."

There it was. Confirmation of the horrible thing Tony had been dreading all day. He sucked in a silent breath and watched his partner's face as she simply blinked and seemed to accept it.

"Oh."

EJ was not the warm and comforting type, but she made herself put her hand lightly on Ziva's knee and offered sincere condolences. "I'm so sorry," she said.

Ziva glanced at the hand, and although it wasn't a threat EJ quickly removed it. Ziva followed EJ's lead into Special Agent Land. "Do you need assistance?"

Tony quietly sighed at Ziva's default setting for dealing with trauma as EJ looked at her, puzzled. "What?"

"Do they suspect it was the Port-to-Port killer?" Ziva elaborated. "Do you need our assistance at the scene?"

EJ stared at her for a beat, and Tony could tell she was weighing up whether or not to ask the questions Ziva's reaction had raised. Thankfully she decided against it. "They're not sure," she said, the empathy beginning to drain out of her voice now that Ziva appeared to be fine. "I just thought you should know."

Ziva nodded stoically. "Thank you, Agent Barrett," she said, and then returned her attention to her computer.

EJ stood up and backed up a few steps, clearly unsure of what to do. She looked to Tony for help, but he shook his head firmly, advising her not to push it any further.

"Ziva," Gibbs started gently in that fatherly voice he used on Abby when she was upset. But Ziva cut him off before he could really get started. She shook her head, rebuffing his attempt at concern, and stood up.

"Excuse me," she said, and then walked quickly out of the bullpen.

EJ looked at Tony again as he overcame his heavy heart to stand up. He knew she'd start questioning any second, so he got in first.

"You sure it's him?"

"I haven't been to scene yet," she pointed out. "But I trust the agent I spoke to."

"Port-to-Port?" McGee asked again.

"Could be," EJ replied, throwing her hands up to underline exactly how clueless she was right now. "I'll know more when I get there."

"You sure you don't need back up?" Gibbs asked her.

"I doubt it," she said with a knowing smirk. "I'm sure the FBI will be all over it." She paused to throw him a curious frown. "Who was your guy over there?"

"Fornell."

EJ nodded, committing it to memory. "Okay. Look, I'm sorry I had to do that," she said, jerking her thumb at Ziva's desk.

Tony appreciated the difficult position she'd been in, but didn't address it further. He turned compassion on her, knowing she and Ray had been friends. "Are you okay?"

She smiled briefly at his concern, but didn't dwell on it. She was now a cop with a job to do. "Yes. I'll call you later and let you know what's going on."

When she left for the elevator, Tony, Gibbs and McGee all stood around silently for a moment as they absorbed the personal and professional consequences of Ray's death. If it was the Port-to-Port killer, things had just gotten even more dire and the urgency to find the killer and bring him to justice was at its highest. But even if it wasn't the killer that EJ and Ray had been tracking for months, the ripple effect into Team Gibbs would be felt for a long time.

As soon as Gibbs picked up his phone—most likely to call Fornell—Tony took off in the direction Ziva had gone. Friends or not, lovers or not, with a wedge between them or not, he was her goddamn partner and he was not going to let her simply find her composure and get over it in under five minutes. That's what he'd always done in the past. Left her to deal with it in whatever way she thought she needed to while standing just close enough to assure her he was there. But now? Screw it. He had nothing to lose. He was going to force himself right into her space and make her deal with it, no matter what.

He found her in the women's bathroom, staring into the sink with her hands pressed against the counter. Tony closed the door quietly behind him and locked it to keep her in as much as to keep others out.

"I am fine," she said robotically, not bothering to check who it was who had joined her. She always seemed to know when it was him.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. And he really was. The idea of her running off to marry Ray and live happily ever after with him had made Tony panic and did things to his heart that stole his breath, but he didn't want their relationship to end with such finality. He didn't wish the man dead, and he didn't want Ziva to now go through the regrets and guilt he knew she would hold close.

Ziva blinked out of her daze and lifted her gaze to the mirror. "I am fine," she repeated, although he wasn't sure if she was telling him or herself.

"Ziva, I'm not going to go out there and tell everyone you're upset," he said softly. "Whatever you've got to do, just do it. Cry or scream or punch something. Preferably not me, but…" he paused to weigh it up. "Okay, I'll take a hit for you if you need it."

Ziva shook her head firmly and then turned on the faucet to wash her hands brutally. "I am fine," she said again, but her voice caught and weakened. She cleared her throat as she shut off the faucet and turned away from him to reach for a paper towel, and after she'd finished drying her hands he watched her take a moment to draw a deep breath and square her shoulders. Then she spun around and marched towards the door.

Tony had seen her make this transformation a dozen times. When faced with something horrific, she would pull her body into a soldier's stance, lift her chin defiantly and blink all emotion away from her eyes. She pushed whatever pain she was feeling down into the deepest, darkest recesses of her psyche to deal with later while she got on with the job that needed doing. Only Tony doubted that 'later' ever came. Ziva dealt with her horrors only when she was forced to. Otherwise, she closed the door on them and left them to rot away at her while she thought she was paying them no mind. But Tony wasn't going to let that happen this time. Now that the prospect of the two of them ever indulging in their feelings for each other had been taken away, it suddenly felt less dangerous to push her into a place she didn't want to go. What was she going to do? 'Break up' with him again? There was nothing here that he needed to protect himself from anymore. Except, perhaps, a right hook. And he was willing to literally take that on the chin.

When she tried to take the path around him to get to the door and leave, Tony stepped to the side with her and blocked her path. She still didn't look him in the eye, but he watched her fists clench and relax and eyes narrow at a spot on his shoulder.

"Tony," she started warningly. "You do not have to…" She stopped abruptly as her voice failed again, and this time her forehead pinched with sadness she couldn't fight. She bit her lip to stall her tears, but then her eyes filled anyway and he watched as she started to break.

Silently he stepped closer to her and wrapped his arms around her. At first she resisted, but as soon as her first sob broke the silence in the room she gave up and fell into him. Tony made no attempt to calm her down. For the next few minutes he just held her tightly as she shook against him and hid her tears in his shoulder. As close as they had always been they had never really hugged each other much, and it seemed strange to be clinging to each other now that their clandestine relationship was over and they were at odds. But it didn't matter right now. Ziva needed him—even if she insisted she didn't—and he'd damn well make sure he was there.

Finally she calmed down and stepped out of his arms to compose herself. It left him feeling cold, and as she turned to fetch another paper towel he had to cross his arms over his chest to stop himself from reaching for her again. Even in such sadness, the feeling of her against him had been so sweet.

"Thank you," Ziva said. She ripped off a square of towel and checked the mirror as she carefully dried her eyes and mopped up the faint shadows on her cheekbones from running eye makeup. Tony stayed rooted to the spot as she cleaned herself up, tossed the towel in the trash and then started pacing the room as she worked on getting a grip on herself.

Eventually she looked over at him—the first time she'd met his eyes since he'd walked into the room—and shot him a sardonic smile. "I should have seen this coming, yes?"

Tony cocked his head to the side. He was sure she was talking about Ray's murder now, but he didn't understand her reasoning. Had Ray said something to her about the operation? "Why?"

Ziva shook her head at herself. "Present company excluded, can you name one person I have had feelings for in the last six years who has not died?"

Tony could think of one, but decided that bringing Steroid King Damon Werth into the discussion right now would only lead to an argument that wasn't needed. She'd made her point. And he didn't think he'd be able to respond to the comment anyway. He hadn't missed that she had just been completely open about the fact that she had feelings for him. They'd both spent six years going to every length to try to hide them, and now that it was over she was referring to them as if they had been common knowledge. The comment felt like a punch to his guts.

"It is probably for the best that you and I never worked out," she went on. "I would not be able to cope if…" She stopped again, as if she couldn't even give voice to a situation where Tony would die. He could relate. He remembered the blinding pain that had taken up residence in his mind, body and soul almost two years ago right after Gibbs had spoken the words _no survivors_. It hadn't left him until that filthy bag had been pulled off her head and she had blinked back at him with sad recognition. Even now when he allowed himself to gingerly open the door on those memories, he sometimes felt the icy panic of those first few hours after learning of her 'death' start to close around his heart again. He'd told her once with raw, unfiltered honesty that he couldn't live without her. Despite the chasm between them now, perhaps Ziva actually felt the same way.

Not that it would do them any good anymore.

Tony swallowed hard and glanced away from her as he pushed all that from his head and refocused. "None of that has been your fault, Ziva," he told her, referring to her appalling luck with romantic partners.

Her expression suggested that she didn't buy into that for a second, but she let it go without further comment. She checked the mirror again and swiped her fingertips under her eyes before facing him. "Do I look like I have been crying?"

Her eyes were still rimmed red, and he knew the harsh lights of the bullpen would be unforgiving. "Yes."

Ziva looked back in the mirror, cursed under her breath, and then paced the bathroom again. She came to a stop in the farthest corner from him, put her hands on her hips and tossed her hair out of her face. "Could you please find out how it happened?" she asked, her tone now even and confident. "I should have asked Agent Barrett, but…" She paused to clear her throat. "Would you please ask her for me?"

Tony nodded quickly. "Yeah. I'll get everything I can, Ziva."

"Thank you," she said, and then disappeared into the stall nearest her. A moment later Tony heard her retch, and then the toilet flushed and she reappeared. At the sink she washed her mouth out and dried herself off, and then she glared at herself in the mirror. "I should have talked to him."

Tony stared at her face in the mirror. He agreed with her, that she should have sucked up her pride and taken one of Ray's phone calls in the last few weeks. Even if only to explain her decision to call it quits. But he wasn't going to say that now and give her more reason to beat herself up. He stepped over to put a comforting hand on her arm, but Ziva stepped back and away from him and held up her hands.

"No, I don't want to cry anymore," she told him. "I want to find out what happened."

His arm dropped to his side as he watched her go through her deep breath, squared shoulders and blank expression ritual again. She swallowed hard and looked up at him with one eyebrow arched in question, and Tony nodded at her. Badass Ziva was back, and Badass Ziva never looked like she'd been crying.

"You're good," he told her.

She nodded and then headed for the door again, and this time he didn't stand in her way. She was half a step past him when she paused, and although she didn't look at him, her warm hand still wrapped around his wrist and her thumb brushed the back of his hand.

"Thank you, Tony," she said softly.

He leaned his face just a little closer to hers, but didn't dare press a kiss to her temple as he so dearly wanted. "Whatever you need," he replied, and he'd never meant anything more. Because, God, he really did still love her. And even though Ray's death had just made an incredibly confusing situation even worse, he would still find a way to look out for her and be her anchor.

He'd be the man she needed him to be.

* * *

By 1900 Gibbs and Tony were alone in the bullpen. McGee had stepped up to take Ziva home as soon as the clock hit 1700, and although she'd seemed irritated by his unspoken suggestion that she needed to go home and 'rest', she had nevertheless followed him to the elevators without much more than a scowl. As soon as the two of them had left, Gibbs and Tony had stopped trying to hide the fact that they were both digging for information on Ray's death and started calling across the bullpen to each other.

"He only checked in at the hotel yesterday afternoon."

"Flew in from Miami at midday, but he'd been in Colombia before that."

"And before that he'd spent three weeks in Tel Aviv."

Cue weighted silence.

"He made about 20 phone calls to Ziva just this week."

"I'm not going to be able to check his financial records without getting a court order or drawing attention to ourselves."

"You need to talk to Barrett."

"She's not returning my calls."

And so it went for the next two hours as they both tried to uncover pieces of a puzzle that might tell them where Ray had been and what he'd been working on. NCIS didn't have any jurisdiction over the death of a CIA agent in a civilian hotel, unless it had something to do with the Port-to-Port killer case. And if it did, Barrett would be all over it and most likely bring Team Gibbs in. But until she did their hands were tied. Gibbs' preferred method for dealing with such technicalities was usually to ignore them and insert themselves in the investigation anyway. But he and Tony both knew that Ziva would be questioned at some point, and if her team started leaving their fingerprints over Ray's recent history now, they might accidentally implicate her in his death. They had to tread very, very carefully and exercise restraint.

That was something Gibbs and Tony weren't really known for, though, and the approach frustrated the hell out of both of them. So when Fornell wandered into the bullpen just past 1900, they both eagerly left their desks to meet him.

"Where's David?" he asked, cocking his head towards her desk.

"Went home," Gibbs replied, and stepped into Fornell's personal space. "You're working Cruz's case?"

Fornell looked between them as he nodded, and Tony wasn't sure but he thought there was the hint of sympathy in his eyes. "It has the potential to become high profile, and fast."

"What's the situation?" Tony asked.

Fornell sighed and stepped back to perch on the edge of Ziva's desk. "Considering David's relationship with Cruz, and your relationship with her, I can't divulge the details of—"

That was as far as he got before Gibbs and Tony both stepped in to loosen his tongue with intimidation.

"Damn it, Tobias!" Gibbs gruffed. "Cut the FBI crap and tell us what's going on."

Fornell appeared unfazed as he held up a hand for them to back off. "Easy, tiger," he said. "I just needed to say it."

"You've said it. Now spill."

"He was found this morning by housekeeping," Fornell said. "He'd been placed on a plastic sheet on his bed. Autopsy is yet to confirm, but it looks like he was stabbed up to four times first, and then had his throat cut post-mortem. No signs of a struggle in the room, but my gut tells me the killer straightened out the mess of a scuffle before he left. There were two drops of blood between the door and the bed. That's it."

"Fingerprints on the plastic sheets?" Tony asked. "Trace fibers?"

Fornell looked at him like he's just attempted to explain to him that two plus two equaled four. "We're on it, DiNozzo," he drawled.

"Time of death?"

"Between eight and midnight last night."

"Why bother straightening the room?" Gibbs wondered aloud.

"We're working on that, too."

Tony stepped away to turn in a little circle as he thought. "He wasn't wrapped in the plastic sheet?"

"No. Just laid out on it." Fornell glanced at Gibbs. "Hadn't been dressed up like the others, either. It's got hints of the Port-to-Port killer, but it wasn't all the way there."

"And if he got distracted before he could finish, he wouldn't have had time to clean the room," Tony said.

Fornell looked at him with the beginnings of a smirk. "Your Agent Barrett is still hanging around on scene, though. Just in case. She's headstrong, that one."

Tony didn't have a clue how Fornell would know anything about his relationship with EJ, other than through the Alphabet Soup rumor mill. He really wasn't in the mood to explain himself, so he let the comment roll off his back.

"You want to question Ziva?" he asked.

Fornell nodded. "It would be prudent, wouldn't you think?"

"Give her the night," Gibbs said. "I'll make sure she comes in tomorrow."

Fornell weighed it up, and then got to his feet and nodded. "Okay. She'd better, though. I don't want to come looking for her."

Tony started at him with disbelief as Fornell headed for the elevator. "You don't honestly think Ziva had anything to do with it, do you?"

Fornell turned to face him again. "Me?" he asked, pointing to himself. "No. But she knows the Port-to-Port's M.O., she's damn well capable of this kind of killing, and she's just been through a nasty break up with the deceased. The sooner she comes in and talks to me about it, the sooner I can convince everyone else that she's clean."

Tony watched him go with a frown as his brain whirred and tried to grab on to the thought that had him so uneasy. He found it just as Fornell hit the button for the elevator, and took two steps towards Ziva's desk to call out to him.

"Hey! Who told you they'd had a nasty break up?"

Fornell barely glanced over his shoulder, but Tony saw his smirk all the same. "Your Agent Barrett did, DiNozzo."

By the time Fornell had stepped into the elevator and the doors had closed, Tony's uneasy feeling had grown into sickening guilt. He turned his back on the elevator, put his hands on his hips and dropped his chin to his chest.

"_Fuck!_" he hissed.

He rarely swore like that, and the uncharacteristic outburst got Gibbs' attention.

"What?"

Tony looked up at him with contrition. "I think that's my fault. I told Barrett that things had ended badly. And now the FBI is going to treat Ziva like a suspect."

Gibbs sighed heavily, and Tony wondered if it was aimed at the mistake Tony had made, the gossip EJ had spread, or his lack of patience with the messed up love quadrangle he'd borne witness to over the last few months. "She's going to be fine," he finally said.

"Yeah, but if I didn't—"

"Barrett was friends with Cruz too," Gibbs cut in. "Maybe he told her. Or maybe she only heard it from you. It doesn't matter. Ziva's not going to go down for it."

Tony rubbed his forehead over the beginnings of a headache. "Yeah," he allowed, but he still felt like telling EJ anything about Ziva's private life was some kind of betrayal. Form now on, he'd keep his stupid mouth shut. "I'm gonna go tell Ziva what we know."

Gibbs nodded and returned to his desk, and Tony picked up his backpack before switching off his computer and securing his gun to his hip.

"Call me if you hear anything else?" he threw at Gibbs as he headed for the door.

Gibbs looked up and gave him a nod. "Look after her."

The comment was enough to make Tony's breath catch in his throat—looking after her was still a focus for him, but he knew Ziva would be resistant—but he just nodded and turned his back on the bullpen and a day that he would dearly like to forget.

But he knew it wasn't close to being over with yet.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Continuing thanks for all your views, follows, favorites and reviews. You guys are the best. In thanks, here's some more angst. You're welcome.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

Tony knew McGee would be there when he turned up at Ziva's door, even if a selfish part of him had been hoping that he wouldn't. Not because he wanted Ziva to work her way through the death of another loved one on her own, or because Tony wanted to be the solo knight in shining armor to help her get through it. But because he knew that if _he'd_ been the one to drive her home earlier tonight, she would have met his attempt to come inside and hang out with her with instant rebuttal. She was always so damn keen to impress on him that she could handle everything on her own and didn't need anyone to look out for her. And if that had been her position _before_ the break up that wasn't really a break up, he could only imagine how she'd react now. Unless the person trying to look out for her was her new BFF Tim McGee, who apparently didn't get turned away at the door.

The heretofore third wheel in their team had clearly shaken off his traditional position in the last few months, and he'd done it without Tony even noticing. While Tony was relieved that someone suitable and perhaps even more able than himself had stepped into the role of Ziva's bestie, McGee's ascension still left him stinging and more than a little peeved over where that left him. Was _he_ the third wheel now? The thought didn't sit right with him, but he had just enough compassion for the situation to avoid making things into a territorial pissing match. Particularly since McGee had done nothing wrong, and was in fact just being the same stable, kind and caring guy he'd been since the day Tony had met him.

The problem was, that was the very thing that made Tony want to punch him in the face right now. Well, that and the way he'd opened the door to Ziva's apartment sans shoes and jacket and looking as comfortable in her space as Tony ever had.

"Hey," McGee greeted, completely unaware of the unwarranted jealousy bubbling beneath Tony's well-coifed surface. "Thought you might come by."

Tony glanced over McGee's shoulder into the apartment for any sign of Ziva. "How's she doing?" he asked softly.

McGee's response was a wince and a shrug, and Tony knew what that meant. She was probably handling it exactly how he expected her to handle it, and he made a bet with himself that she's be sitting at her coffee table and cleaning her guns when he came in. That was Ziva's version of meditation but, if the situation called for it, the cleaning of her guns was also a way for her to prepare herself mentally before she went the full ninja on whoever had pissed her off.

McGee stepped back and headed back to the living room, and once Tony had closed and locked the door he followed. Just as he'd expected, Ziva was sitting on the floor behind her large coffee table. The surface had been covered in newspaper, and in addition to the Glock she had pulled apart to methodically clean, there were two other handguns and a rifle laid out before her. McGee fell onto the couch in the spot Tony usually inhabited, and Tony clenched and then relaxed his fist inside his coat pocket. It wasn't his place anymore.

Ziva looked up at him as he hovered by the coffee table, and he swallowed down the sting over her apparent surprise to see him there to deliver the news.

"Me and Gibbs spoke to Fornell," he told her. "He's heading up the investigation."

Ziva quickly put down her gun and got to her feet to stand before him. Her eyes pleaded for more details, and Tony took a breath before he delivered the news that he knew would bring her distress.

"Ray was found by housekeeping this morning," he began, and as soon as Ziva's face crumbled with sadness he found himself reaching out to hold on to her arm in support. But she didn't seem to want it, and discretely pulled her arm back. Tony swallowed down the rejection and continued. "He had been stabbed several times and his throat was cut post-mortem. He was on a plastic sheet on the bed, but not wrapped in it."

"Did he fight?" she asked.

Tony glanced at McGee as he sat up off the couch and watched Tony with almost as much interest as Ziva. "Probably," Tony replied. "Fornell said that the room had been cleaned, so it looked like there wasn't a struggle. But I'm sure that the autopsy will tell us otherwise."

"When did he die?" Ziva asked, her face briefly contorting with the rage and grief she was barely holding on to. "How long was he lying there before a stranger found him?"

"Fornell said it was probably between eight and midnight last night."

Ziva let out a small gasp and swayed backwards. "So he could have been lying there for 12 hours?"

"Ziva," McGee began gently, but she ignored him and advanced on Tony as if he were the one responsible for her ex-boyfriend silently bleeding to death without anyone wondering where he was.

"Didn't anyone hear anything?" she wanted to know.

Tony's head dropped to the side and he looked at her with all the regret and sadness within him. He'd done countless death notifications in his career, and he always felt so sorry for the families involved. But God, it was _so much worse_ when you had such deep love for the person you were destroying with the truth.

"I'm sorry, Ziva," he said softly. "I don't know. Fornell's team is all over it."

Ziva held his gaze, and he knew she was trying to work out whether he knew more than he was saying or if he was being straight out honest with her. In the end she decided she believed him, and let out a deep sigh that curled her shoulders in and made her head drop. She lifted a shaking hand to rub her forehead, and then nodded with acceptance.

"Okay," she said thickly.

"Was it the Port-to-Port killer?" McGee wanted to know.

"They're not sure," Tony replied. "There were similarities, but it wasn't P2P's exact style."

"Is Agent Barrett working on it?" Ziva asked.

Tony gave her something between a headshake and a nod. "Fornell said that she's staying close for the time being until they know if it's linked to what she and Ray were investigating."

"You haven't spoken to her?" McGee asked.

"No," Tony replied, making sure that his tone invited no further questioning about anything to do with EJ. He looked at Ziva. "Fornell wants to interview you tomorrow."

Ziva nodded numbly. "Of course."

He aimed a guilty look at his shoes before coming clean. "He is aware that you and Ray broke up recently, and that you didn't part on the best terms."

Ziva scratched her head and then returned to her spot on the floor behind the coffee table. "So he suspects me, yes?"

"No," Tony said quickly. "Fornell doesn't. But he's got to tick the box."

She picked up her Glock and jammed the magazine back into place. "Of course."

McGee and Tony shared a wary look, and Tony chose to take a step out of the way and over to the armchair beside the couch.

"How does Fornell know that their relationship ended badly?" McGee asked.

Tony couldn't stop the scowl that he aimed at his teammate. The guy really, _really_ needed to learn how to read a room and work out when to keep his mouth shut. McGee frowned back, clearly not understanding why the question would be so offensive or indelicate, and Tony counted to five until the urge to grab McGee and throw him out of the apartment had passed.

"Agent Barrett told him," Tony replied as evenly as possible. "After I mentioned it to her in passing."

A look of comprehension came over McGee's face, and he gave Tony a vaguely traitorous look before turning to Ziva. For her part, Ziva seemed unconcerned. As she wiped down the barrel of her gun, she simply shrugged.

"Perhaps. But she and Ray were quite…close." She almost choked on the word. "It would not surprise me if he had discussed it with her."

An uneasy silence fell over the room as Ziva returned to her gun, Tony wondered what exactly she had meant by 'close', and McGee sat between them with perhaps only a quarter of the whole story. When he tired of the awkwardness Tony took off his coat and slung it over the armchair. The action drew Ziva's perplexed gaze.

"You are staying?" she asked, seemingly genuine in her surprise.

Tony froze with one shirtsleeve rolled halfway up his arm. Did she expect him to go? Sure, things were different between them now, but hadn't he shown her that afternoon that he could still be depended on to support her? Hadn't he made it clear that he still cared and wasn't going to leave her to deal with this alone?

"Yes," he said firmly, daring her to argue. "I'm staying."

They held gazes for a few silent moments until finally her eyes softened and she let him in again with the barest of smiles.

"If you have somewhere else to be," she began, clearly referring to Tony's girlfriend who had also lost a friend today. But Tony shook his head. He knew EJ would be caught up for a while longer on the case, but even if she wasn't, he'd still be here with Ziva.

That probably made him a pretty bad boyfriend.

"I don't," he assured her, and underlined the statement by taking a seat in the armchair. He looked over at McGee. "So, what are we doing, Agent McGee? Just sitting here watching Ziva clean her guns?"

McGee smirked and picked up the remote control for the TV from the couch cushion beside him. "Actually, Tony, before you arrived we were about to start watching _The Sound of Music_."

Tony's eyes slid over to Ziva to gauge whether McGee was just saying that to mess with him. Both of them knew that he _hated_ that movie, but it was one of Ziva's favorites, and he wouldn't be entirely surprised if she wanted the comfort of it on in the background tonight. Indeed, Ziva's eyes didn't hold even a touch of humor, and he knew it wasn't a joke. They were Julie Andrews bound.

"Great," he said, and then shot a filthy look at McGee's grin.

* * *

Tony didn't make it even five minutes into the movie before his patience ran thin. As soon as Julie Andrews started spinning through the hills and indulging in her crazy urge to _sing_ about it, the urge to pull out his gun and put it to his own head started growing and he knew he wouldn't last through the whole thing with his mouth shut. He clenched his fists and tried to ignore the amused little smirks McGee kept aiming at him, and he looked around him for anything that would distract him from the urge to shoot McGee, the television, or himself. His eyes fell on Ziva's red plastic Slinky on the side table and he grabbed it. Small things amused small minds when the only alternative was goddamn Julie Andrews, her dickish love interest and a bunch of annoying, precocious kids.

The Slinky had turned up at Ziva's place shortly after she'd become a US citizen. It was one of her friends' attempts at introducing her to Americana, but Tony had always thought it was a pretty weak one. But considering that he hadn't even made it to her ceremony like he'd promised—even if he'd had a very good reason that Ziva had completely understood—he'd never mentioned it to her. Maybe the Americana gifts he'd given her hadn't been much better, but at least they'd been personal. He'd stuffed an old _Magnum P.I._ lunchbox with a trophy he won in high school for basketball, his old Bruce Springsteen _Born in the USA_ t-shirt, and the Captain America action figure he'd been given for Christmas when he was about seven, and that he'd rediscovered in a box jammed into the top of his wardrobe a few months before her ceremony.

He remembered the look on her face when he'd given them to her after a brief but sincere apology for his absence on her big day. Even now the thought of her smile as he'd shared to stories behind each item made his chest warm and his throat tight. He remembered thinking that maybe, just maybe, they might have a shot at sorting their relationship out and making something work between them. But two days later she'd been sent down to Miami to search for information on Reynosa, and by the time she returned there was a new guy on the scene. The rest was history.

Tony strung the Slinky out and then back in again like an accordion as his eyes wandered over to Ziva's bookshelf. Captain America had stood guard by her copy of the Declaration of Independence since the day she'd received him, but tonight he was gone. The Slinky hung down between his hands as Tony blinked with surprise and hurt, and he quickly scanned the bookcase and the rest of the room for any sign of the toy. But as far as he could tell, Captain America was AWOL.

It was another punch to the gut that took him by surprise, and he put down the Slinky and got to his feet before he got too angry or sad or annoyed or…God, he wasn't even sure _what_ he was feeling.

"I'm going to make some coffee," he told the other two. "Anyone want some?"

He got two head shakes in response and then headed for the safety and solitude of the kitchen. He opened the cupboard above her coffee machine and grabbed one of the flavor pods from the container. He'd been trying to convince her for years to invest in a proper machine, but so far his pleas had fallen on ears that were alternatively deaf or annoyed. George Clooney might swear by the stuff, but Tony usually found himself swearing _at_ it. Still, it would do. He jammed the pod into the machine, stabbed the button that would turn the pod into coffee, and then slammed a coffee cup under the spout. Then he turned around to lean back on the counter, crossed his arms and glared at the wall across from him.

Although he tried, Tony could not think of a word to adequately describe how much he hated what had happened between them. More to the point, how much he hated that he didn't even realize until recently what had happened. And why hadn't he? Probably because, as Ziva had pointed out, he'd been focused on trying to have it both ways. EJ as his girlfriend, Ziva as his work wife and daily source of fun, support, happiness and frustration. But that wasn't a one-way street. Ziva had used him the same way he used her, even while she and Ray had been dating. If he thought it would get them anywhere other than another fight, he might point it out to her. But it made no difference now. She'd made her decision to give up and walk away.

For a guy who'd never even told her he loved her, and who was having a relationship with another woman that he really did want to work at, he still found that an incredibly bitter pill to swallow.

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out quickly, thinking that Gibbs might have found more information. But EJ's name came up on caller ID, and for some reason he found himself hesitating a moment before he answered.

"DiNozzo."

"It's me," EJ said. "I've just gotten back from scene. Sorry I couldn't call back before now."

"I figured you were busy," he replied, and then checked that neither Ziva nor McGee was coming before heading for the farthest corner of the kitchen. He kept his voice low. "Me and Gibbs spoke to Fornell a few hours ago. Have you found out anything else?"

"Not really," she said, and Tony could hear exhaustion creeping into her voice. "Except I think the killer was there for a while. The stab wounds wouldn't have killed Ray right away. He would have bled out over maybe half an hour. The neck wound was deep enough to cut his artery, but there was no blood spatter on the walls or ceiling. His heart had definitely stopped before he received it."

Tony winced and rubbed his head. That wasn't going to give Ziva much peace of mind. "Did they use the same kind of knife that Port-to-Port does?"

"Not sure yet," EJ told him. "The M.E. from the FBI will do the autopsy tomorrow morning. At first glance it doesn't look like it."

"It doesn't?"

"No." She sighed heavily. "I gotta tell you, Tony, this looks so strange. It's like Port-to-Port _light_. More like echoes of his work than the real thing."

"Copycat?"

"Sort of."

That got the attention of his protective streak. "Then you need to be careful."

EJ chuckled. "I'm not worried about me."

"Can you at least humor me and pretend that you'll pay more attention to your surroundings?"

"Sure," she replied easily. "I will definitely do that."

Tony rolled his eyes to the ceiling. In some ways, EJ and Ziva were goddamn peas in a pod. And their attachment to Ray Cruz was another similarity. EJ and Ray had been friends, and she'd just spent the day with his dead body. As tough as she was, and as good as she was at compartmentalizing things (yet another similarity with the woman in the other room), Tony knew that it had to be eating at her.

"How are you doing?" he asked with concern.

"Okay," she said thinly, and then cleared her throat. "Me, Cade and Levin are about to go and toast to fallen heroes." She paused for a moment, and when she spoke again Tony could hear the hesitation in her voice. "Where are you?"

Guilt scratched at his stomach, but he answered her honestly. "Me and McGee are at Ziva's." It was very important to say that McGee was there too.

"How is she doing?" EJ asked with genuine sympathy.

Tony thought about how best to answer that, and ended up chuckling over a sigh. "Well, she's Ziva, you know?" He thought that pretty much summed it up.

But it didn't help EJ any. "No, I don't know," she said, almost self-consciously. "I don't have any idea what that means."

It seemed odd, but Tony had to remind himself that EJ and Ziva didn't know a whole lot about each other. He hadn't exactly been keen to talk to either of them at length about the other one, and as far as he knew their dealings with each other had been strictly professional. But from where he stood—roughly halfway between them—he felt like they both had such huge and unique personalities that it was hard to believe that anyone wouldn't know who they were. Especially since he knew so much about both of them. How could there be two such important people in his life who didn't know anything about each other?

Of course, he knew the answer to that. They knew nothing about each other because he didn't want them to, and neither did they. He decided to give EJ the Cliffs Notes. "It means that you could think of 100 ways to kill her, and she'd beat you every time."

"Survivor," EJ summed up.

"Undoubtedly."

EJ paused. "Was her reaction to finding out Ray was dead kind of…?"

He waited for her to finish, but when it appeared that she had assumed he would know what she meant, he had to prompt her. "What?"

She sighed again and lowered her voice, as if she didn't want to be heard by anyone else speaking out of turn. "She just seemed very calm and detached."

Tony knew where she was coming from, and that it was only her investigator's mind that made her ask. Even still, he felt a surge of protectiveness for his partner and he wouldn't let EJ wander any further down her line of thought. "Don't," he said evenly, but firmly. "You don't know her, you don't know her life, you don't know her history."

EJ heeded his warning and backed right down. "No, Tony, I'm not suggesting that there's anything hinky going on. It's just rare to find that kind of composure."

He didn't want to talk about Ziva's coping mechanisms with her, so he changed the subject. "Did you find anything else?"

"No. Fornell's taking the lead. He'll want to question her tomorrow."

"Yeah, she knows," he told her. He pursed his lips as guilt momentarily flared in his stomach again, and he decided he had something to bring up with her. "Hey, did you tell Fornell about their break up?"

"Yes."

"What did you say?"

"That they broke up recently," he replied, sounding somewhat confused by the question.

Tony sighed to himself with the frustration of being caught between defending Ziva and not pissing off EJ by making her think he was on Ziva's side. He attempted diplomacy. "Fornell had the impression that the break up was a bad one," he said, trusting that the statement was leading enough to draw an explanation.

"It was," EJ replied obviously. "You didn't know that?"

"What?"

He thought he heard EJ groan. "I thought she would have told you," she muttered.

Tony frowned with confusion. "Told me what? That it was bad? She didn't, but it was obvious."

"Okay."

That was all she said, and it was enough to tell him that there was a big piece of the puzzle that he didn't have. He opened his mouth to ask her to explain it, but his gut told him to leave it. Although he desperately wanted to know (his job as an investigator was merely license to indulge in his natural born instinct to want to know everything about everyone around him), something told him that whatever EJ knew about the matter would open a can of worms that he probably couldn't deal with right now. But he couldn't resist pushing it just a little.

"Did Ray talk to you about it?"

"He said some things," she replied evasively.

"And did you repeat those things to Fornell?"

Her voice took on a warning tone. "Get to your point, Tony."

EJ liked things straight up, so he gave it to her. "She's a suspect now."

"And you think it's because of what _I_ said?" she asked, her voice rising with indignation. "It was common knowledge that they were dating, Tony. Fornell knew it without anyone saying anything. His comment to me was that he didn't want to have to go find David and tell her. He was relieved when I said I already had."

The information reassured Tony slightly that he wasn't responsible for Ziva being painted as a suspect, and neither was EJ. But he was still angry about it. "She didn't do it."

"Well, _duh_," EJ sighed, beginning to get frustrated with him. "But Fornell's still got to talk to her. You know how this goes. We can't change the rules when it's one of our own, Tony. In fact, we've got to follow them to the letter."

He held back his sarcastic remark that would have thanked her for explaining that to the guy who'd been in law enforcement for 16 years. It wouldn't do any good, and the part of him that wasn't angry about the whole situation knew she was only saying it because he shouldn't have been questioning the process in the first place.

He took a deep breath and let it go. "Could this month get any crappier?" he wondered aloud.

EJ's tone returned to normal in line with his. "You've seemed kind of depressed about something lately," she noted. "You want to talk about it?"

"No, there's nothing," he lied quickly. "Just…I don't know. I'm letting things stack up instead of clearing them out."

"Sounds like you need some stress relief."

He knew what she was getting at, but getting into bed with her tonight would just make him feel guiltier and more confused than he already did. Eventually he'd get his head on straight again and things would go back to normal between them. Just not right now. "Yeah. But not tonight."

"You'll be there a while?" EJ guessed.

"Yeah."

If she was upset by that, she did a damn good job of hiding it. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Another wave of guilt over not even offering to be there with her tonight slammed into him, and he called her back. "Wait, EJ?"

"Yeah?"

"You going to be okay tonight?"

"Sure," she replied. "We'll have a few drinks and then I'll probably head back to the Yard and do some more work."

He'd never fault her for not being as committed as the rest of them. "Okay. Give me a call if you get angry and frustrated and need to unload a bunch of swear words."

"Goddamn motherfucking cocksuckers," she returned.

Tony laughed for perhaps the first time since that morning. "All right, you seem to have a handle on that. Please look after yourself while you're moving about."

"I will. Goodnight."

"Night."

He hung up and indulged in his frustration with the day by smacking the phone against his forehead a few times. One too many hits made his head hurt, and he winced as he slid the phone back into his pocket. His coffee was ready, but now he didn't feel like drinking it. Anything that would keep him awake instead of allowing him the reprieve from the day that sleep would bring wasn't something he was interested in. He took the cup from under the machine and tossed the coffee down the drain, and then steeled himself before returning to the _Sound of Music_.

Yep, sleep couldn't come quickly enough.

* * *

Hours later Tony was dozing in the darkness of Ziva's apartment when the sound of approaching footsteps had him alert and reaching for his gun. With thoughts of a possible copycat killer in his head, he squinted through the dark and tried to locate the threat as he finally unholstered his weapon. He caught a shadow moving to his right and quickly brought his gun around in front of him, and he was about to flick off the safety when his eyes adjusted enough to realize that the shadowy figure was Ziva's. She paused on her trek from her bedroom to the kitchen to look at him, and Tony immediately lowered his weapon and muttered an apology. Ziva didn't respond, but just continued on her way into the kitchen.

Tony reholstered his weapon and rubbed his face vigorously. Wouldn't that be the perfect end to this week? Accidentally shooting his partner dead just a day after her ex had been murdered, and while his other partner slept soundly on the couch three feet away. He glanced over at McGee to see if he's stirred, but he appeared to have slept through the incident. Of course, that could have something to do with the fact that he had the cushiony luxury of the couch to sleep on. Tony might've slept like a baby too if he'd been able to stretch out, but the armchair he was in was poking him in all the wrong places and making his back cramp.

Jesus, he hated getting older.

Three minutes after he'd almost shot her, Ziva trekked back through the living room carrying two mugs. She paused by the armchair to wordlessly hand one to him, and then continued on to her bedroom. Tony sniffed the mug and some kind of fragrant tea filled his head. He wasn't usually a tea drinker, but tonight it seemed kind of comforting. He took a sip and found it much more agreeable than he was expecting so he took another. He craned his head around the side of the armchair and saw that Ziva had left her bedroom door open. He didn't know whether it was an invitation, but he decided to take a chance anyway.

He squinted through the light from her bedside lamp when he reached her bedroom. Ziva was sitting up atop the covers with her back against the headboard. His eyes adjusted enough to catch the very small smile she sent him, and he felt a little more confident about invading her most personal space. He checked the living room again to make sure McGee was still asleep and then closed the door as quietly as he could.

"Sorry for almost shooting you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ziva shrugged like it was no big deal. "It happens. You sleep with a gun now?"

"I'm on edge," he replied, and lowered his aching body into the armchair beside her bedroom window. It was even smaller than the one in the living room, but the only other option was the bed. He was fairly certain that their days of sharing mattresses were over.

"I hope I am not teaching you bad habits."

He smirked, all too aware of Ziva's very bad habit of sleeping with weaponry. He thought she'd stopped that—there'd been no gun in the bed the last time the 'slept' together on the night he'd given her Captain America—but old habits died hard.

"You are," he told her, going for levity. "But snuggling with firearms isn't one of them."

"You are very jumpy," she stated.

He almost laughed before he looked her in the eye. "Got a lot on my mind."

She lifted her eyebrows in agreement and sipped her tea. "How is Agent Barrett?" she asked with nothing but empathy in her tone.

"Okay, I think," he replied. "She was having some drinks with Cade and Levin before going back to the Yard."

Ziva looked over at him with something approaching nerves in her eyes. "Tell her I am sorry. I know they were close."

Unlike earlier in the night, there was no accusation in her tone now. But still, Tony wondered what she knew, and whether it had to do with what EJ clearly knew. He was hardly going to bring it up now, though.

"I handled it badly," Ziva said softly. A long pause followed but Tony waited it out, wanting to hear her thoughts on her very real break up with Ray in her own words. "I should have been more understanding."

He recalled her angry words in the NCIS locker room about not wanting to put up with lies from her husband. While he agreed that she should have at least talked to Ray at some point, he didn't want her to back down from her position because Ray died. "You listened to your gut, Ziva."

She aimed a bitter smirk at her teacup. "My gut has not been working very well lately."

To Tony's horror, the first thing that came out of his mouth in response was a joke. "You probably need to eat more yoghurt."

Ziva looked over at him, eyebrow arched, and he slammed his eyes shut and shook his head firmly with regret.

"I'm sorry," he told her.

But Ziva cracked a genuine smile. "It's okay."

"It just came out," he went on. "I have this disability where I can't control my mouth sometimes."

Ziva nodded easily. "Yes, Tony, I know. It's okay."

He ran his hand through his hair as he mentally kicked himself, and then got back on track. "Look, I know you already know this, but every time someone you love dies you always think of something you should have said or done. Something you regret about the last time you saw them." He shook his head. "But you can't change it, Ziva. And you can't carry your regrets and doubts around with you and let them grind you down."

She held his gaze silently for the longest time until her eyes teared up and she looked utterly distraught. "I have so many regrets, Tony," she said brokenly.

He nodded with empathy as his heart ached. "I know. So do I." God, he had so many. And far too many of them had arrived on his shoulders this week.

"I do not even know where to begin to untangle them."

He took a deep breath in an effort to control his emotion. He had to be the anchor for her. He had to be what she needed. When he was sure his voice wouldn't waver, he offered what he hoped was halfway decent advice. "Start by letting some of them go."

She kept his gaze, and he swore he could see the pulse jumping in her neck before she said, "What if I can't?"

He didn't need clarification. It was in her face and in her voice that she was talking about them, and he honestly didn't know what to say. The right thing to do would be to reassure her that yes, she could. If she put her mind to it she would eventually find peace with their huge, aching missed opportunity. But his stubborn, selfish heart wouldn't let him. He couldn't give her the freedom that she needed in that moment. Because while Ziva might have said she was done, he still wasn't. And he didn't really think he would be until he died.

"We'll work something out," he eventually said, but his voice couldn't even make it past a whisper.

Ziva kept staring at him, watching his face for any of the tells that he knew she picked up on. After a few intense moments of scrutiny he averted his gaze and took another sip of tea. He didn't know what she was looking for, and he didn't have a clue how much feeling he should be allowing her to see tonight. The safest thing felt like withdrawing a little until the tension in the room died down.

He had almost finished his tea before Ziva spoke up again. "I am sorry for being somewhat…prickly tonight," she settled on.

He shook his head at her, absolving her trivial sin. "Ziva, you don't have to apologize to me."

"I do," she said thickly.

Damn it, he knew she was talking about their triangle with Ray again. He swallowed hard and made himself be honest. She deserved it. "Well, there are plenty of apologies that I owe you, too."

"Maybe we will talk about them one day."

It was such a terrifying prospect that Tony couldn't help but laugh to take the edge off. "Oh. That sounds _awesome_."

Ziva broke into a full smile, showing that she was on his wavelength, and then took a final sip of her tea. She placed the mug on her bedside table, and then yanked the bedcovers out from under her butt and covered her legs. Tony got the signal that their late night/early morning heart-to-heart was done, and he wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved. God, he was sick to death of his up and down emotions this week.

He got up and took a few steps towards her to pick up her mug.

"You do not need to do that," Ziva said.

Ah, there was the frustratingly independent woman he knew. "I can take it to the kitchen, Ziva. It's not that far out of my way."

She backed down, and he hoped it was because she realized how stupid it would be to argue. He'd taken a step away from her when she called him back.

"Tony?"

He turned back and looked down at her soft eyes that tugged painfully at his heart. "Yeah?"

"Thank you for being here."

As it had hurt earlier in the night when she expressed surprise that he would stay, it hurt now to think that she really hadn't expected him to hang around. If he were on the outside looking in on this guy who left his girlfriend to work in favor of hanging around at his partner's place on the night they'd both lost someone close to them, he'd think this guy was an asshole. Hell, he'd been thinking it about himself all night. But they weren't exactly a textbook case, and he knew he'd be able to live with himself more easily by doing things this way than by leaving his partner of six years to beat herself up on her own.

He'd already accepted that he was a crappy boyfriend. But on the other hand, he was a goddamn loyal partner.

He took a step back to Ziva and looked down at her seriously. "You're not getting rid of me," he stated firmly. "I know that we're…" He paused as he struggled to find an apt descriptor of their situation. "Taking a step back, I guess. But I've still got your back. Don't ever doubt it."

Something akin to relief passed over Ziva's face, and he wondered what kind of 'break up'-related worries she'd been carrying around with her this week. "I have yours, too," she told him.

"I know you do," he said, even if he really only felt the truth to that now. Even with all the mess and hurt and shaky ground between them, he knew she'd still walk through fire for him. "Try to get some sleep."

"You too," she said. "You are going to be in pain tomorrow from that armchair."

"Yes, I will," he said as he got to the door. "And I'm going to make you listen to every single word of complaint."

"I cannot wait."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I hope that chapter made you feel a little better after the mondo angst of the previous two chapters. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Continuing thanks to everyone reading along, and special thanks to those who take the time to review. Although some of you may be nervous about the direction this story is going, It's lovely to know you're hanging in there anyway.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

"This is so gross."

Ziva looked up from her camera's viewfinder to give her attention to McGee. He was standing in knee-deep sludge leading up to the riverbank where a young navy recruit had been found dead that morning, and Ziva couldn't blame him for not looking too happy about it. Although he was in a jumpsuit, knee-high rubber boots and elbow-length rubber gloves, the water around him looked slimy and bacteria-ridden enough to warrant a long decontamination shower back at the Navy Yard.

"I cannot argue with you on that," Ziva replied.

McGee took a careful step to his left, held on to a tree branch sticking out of the water, and then gingerly bent to stick his arm in the water and feel around for the dead woman's missing backpack. "How does Tony always know what I'm going to play in Rock, Paper, Scissors?"

Ziva smiled and refocused on the camera. "I do not know, McGee," she said, before taking a few shots of the footprints leading down to and away from the river. "Gibbs has his gut, Tony has his Rock, Paper, Scissors intuition."

"When was the last time you saw him swimming in a fetid cesspool of ick for evidence?"

"Never," Ziva allowed.

"Or Gibbs," McGee went on. "They've gotten too big for their boots. They never get their hands dirty anymore."

Ziva kept her mouth shut as McGee continued to rant. His irritation with the situation was completely justified, and so it would do no good for him to hear that she, for one, was pleased to be out in the field. Taking photos and measurements, collecting evidence and processing the scene was keeping her mind occupied ahead of Ray's funeral the next day. And being out of the bullpen meant that she was not stuck sitting right in front of Tony's face, which significantly reduced the amount of careful conversation she had to engage in.

Tony had been a great partner in the last few days. It had not been lost on her that despite making it clear to him a week before Ray died that she was no longer prepared to torture herself and that she was letting the non-relationship go, Tony had made a point of being by her side. Despite her strong assertions to the contrary, she did need the support. From him, from McGee, and from Gibbs. All three of them had done their bit, and Ziva was acutely aware of how lucky she was to have them. All of them. Even her partner, with whom she could barely share a comfortable moment anymore.

She would shoulder the responsibility over that for now. While ultimately their problems were as much his fault as hers, he clearly hadn't been expecting to hear her admit that she loved him, but was done with their drama all the same. She could see in his eyes that he was still dealing with the shock and sadness their conversation in the locker room had brought—honestly, so was she—but she just had to hope that one day they would be able to be comfortable with each other again. And if they couldn't, then she hoped she'd be able to find the level head or at least fake the empty heart she'd need to pick up and walk away from him for good.

The thought of doing that made her heart thud painfully in her chest though, and as she lined up to take another shot of their crime scene she had to blink her eyes a few times until her vision cleared. She cursed herself in her head for being so damn emotional lately, and wondered what her father would think of her random fits of crying. It was not how he had raised her, to show vulnerabilities that would leave her open to be taken advantage of. If Eli were here he would expect her to keep her head high, her eyes blank and to get on with her job. She knew she could do it. She had done it in the past and she had survived. Just as she had walked away from people she had loved before and survived. And if she had to walk away from Tony so that they could both get on with their lives, she would.

Wouldn't she?

Perhaps she would not have to make that choice herself, though. Tony's relationship with EJ seemed to be getting stronger and stronger, and although she did not find the woman entirely trustworthy, Ziva would not stand in their way. She would never be a cheerleader for them, and she did not think she would ever really find peace with idea of them. But she would accept it. And if Tony committed to EJ and finally left Ziva behind, well that would eventually make it easier for Ziva to get on with her life too.

She took a deep breath as she flipped the camera to slideshow and flicked through the images she had taken. Lord, she was so sick of feeling like this. She was sick of being in mourning for the loss of an ex-boyfriend and the loss of a never-boyfriend. She was sick of being sad. She was sick of people doing horrible things to each other and being caught in the middle of it. She was sick of people looking at her like they were worried she was going to fall apart or start throwing punches. She was sick of not being able to remember what normal felt like. All she wanted in her life right now was some peace, stability and happiness.

Whatever that was.

"Is that a syringe?"

Ziva heard the voice, but she didn't immediately register that the question was directed at her. She was still halfway tangled in her thoughts and she wasn't even really looking at the image displayed on the camera's screen, so it took Tony waving his hand in front of her face before she snapped out of it and lifted her eyes to look at him.

"What?"

Tony's curious smile slowly slid into a look of concern. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she insisted, and she knew she'd nailed her deception when Tony didn't press her further, but pointed at the camera and repeated his first question.

"Is that a syringe? Was that near the body?"

Ziva looked down at the shot—it was indeed of a syringe—and then handed the camera over to him. "Yes. It was in the scrub about four feet from where the victim was found. I will make sure to tell Ducky."

"Possible murder weapon," he said as he flicked through some of her other shots. "Find anything out there, probie?" he called out.

Ziva turned to watch McGee as he practically dragged himself out of the river. He looked utterly miserable, and Ziva sent him a brief look of sympathy.

"Got nothing," McGee panted, before dumping a handful of what looked like mud on the riverbank. "Unless you think a cell phone is something."

Tony and Ziva carefully avoided all other footprints as they crossed the slippery bank towards him. They all crouched by the small pile of mud, and McGee used a gloved finger to wipe some of the goop off.

"Ta dah!"

"Excellent find, McGee," Ziva offered.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, let's just hope it's our victim's," Tony shot in. "Or her killer's. Wouldn't that be nice? If all our killers just started leaving their cell phones or drivers licenses or directions to their houses at the scene of their crimes."

"It would be nicer if they didn't kill anyone in the first place," McGee suggested.

Tony cocked his head to the side in agreement. "Yeah, I guess."

"What've you got?"

The three of them looked up at Gibbs standing above them on the riverbank, and McGee carefully held up what he'd found.

"Cell phone, boss," he said. "Might be the victim's."

Gibbs peered at the muddy phone impassively. "You gonna be able to get anything off that?"

"Yeah, probably," McGee said optimistically. "You know, once we pull it apart and dry it out and connect it to another computer and—"

"Good," Gibbs said, not caring about the rest. He shifted his eyes to Ziva and cocked his head at her. "David, with me."

Ziva braced her hands on her knees as she pushed herself out of her crouch, and then carefully picked her way back up the riverbank to follow Gibbs. He led her back up the trail towards their vehicles, but before they got there he stopped and turned around to face her. From nothing more than the tilt of his head and the barest softening of his eyes, Ziva knew that he was about to say something that would likely make her burst into tears again.

"What?" she asked, and braced herself for impact.

Gibbs gave her the slightest of smiles before looking over her shoulder and surveying the scrub around them. "Fornell called. He's arrested a suspect."

Ziva stared at him in shock as all the feeling left her body. Gibbs reached out to clutch her elbow, and she gripped his arm in return. This was good news. This was _really_ good news. Something was finally going right.

"Who?"

"I don't have a name," Gibbs told her. "But it someone connected to one of Ray's old cases. There was a DNA match."

"What DNA?" she wanted to know. How strong was the evidence? Was it going to stick?

Gibbs looked at her levelly. "I don't know," he replied, and then held up his hand to stall her next question. "And no, I didn't ask. I don't want to know the details."

Ziva frowned deeply. "What?" she almost hissed. "Why not? I need to know who did this, Gibbs. And Fornell made it clear to me after my interview that he would not share anything with me."

Gibbs stepped closer to her and looked down with eyes that challenged her to do better. "Use your head, Ziva. He _is_ telling you."

Of course he was, Ziva realized. Fornell had known Gibbs for longer than Tony had, and he had to know that when Gibbs' family was involved, he tended to bend the rules even more than he usually did. It was a given that whatever Fornell told Gibbs would find its way to Ziva. But Fornell had to cover his ass until she was completely ruled out as a suspect.

Ziva put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath as she tried to switch off her emotion and think with her investigator's head. "You did not ask for detail because you think that the more I know, the angrier I will be."

"Yup."

"And because you think if I know who the suspect is, I will go over there, guns blazing."

Gibbs gave her a knowing smile. "Yup. Because that's what I would do. And sometimes you and me ain't so different."

Ziva knew it. Sometimes it was a blessing, and other times a curse. Right now she accepted that it was probably a good thing that Gibbs was aware enough to exercise restraint. She crossed her arms over her chest and asked what she was fairly certain would be a safe question.

"You said he had arrested a suspect," she repeated. "Does that mean he is yet to question him?"

"He's about to start."

Ziva guessed that probably meant there would be no more news for another two or three hours at least. Probably more like four or five. But she could make one assumption now before the questioning began.

"If it was someone involved in one of his past cases, then it would seem that it was definitely not the Port-to-Port killer."

Gibbs shrugged without commitment, but they had all been thinking since the first details of Ray's murder had come through that the similarities to the Port-to-Port hadn't been strong enough. Not even EJ, who had been gung-ho Port-to-Port all day and night for months and months, had been pushing the idea. It just didn't fit.

"I do not suppose it would be too much to hope to have the suspect charged before Ray's funeral in the morning."

Gibbs surveyed the scrub again as he weighed that up. "Could do. Still got about 20 hours. That's a lot of time."

"Yes. I suppose it is."

Gibbs gave her a fatherly smile and reached out to brush his finger under her chin. "Hey, it's good news."

Ziva nodded and let out a genuine smile of relief in response. "It is."

He cocked his head towards the road, and they started back up the path towards their vehicles.

"I'm going to pick you up at 0430," Gibbs told her over his shoulder. "I assume you can still get up that early without whining about it?"

Ziva didn't have to wonder who the whiner was. But in Tony's defense, the longer she spent away from Mossad, the harder she found it to be up and moving around at that time too. Tomorrow there would be a good reason. She and Gibbs were flying down to Miami for Ray's funeral. She'd insisted to Gibbs that although his offer to accompany her was deeply appreciated, it was not necessary. Gibbs had replied that it wasn't an offer that was there for her to refuse. He was coming with her, and that was that. She doubted her own father would have done the same.

"Yes. Thank you, Gibbs."

"You talk to his mom yet?"

Ziva shook her head, even though she was behind him. "I sent a letter of condolence."

Gibbs glanced over his shoulder at her. "You should talk to her tomorrow."

"Yes."

"Good." He paused for just a moment, but when he spoke again his voice was tight with remembered pain. "It'll help her to know the impact her kid had on other people.

Ziva couldn't begin to imagine what it would feel like to lose a child, but she would always defer to Gibbs' advice on how to talk to the parents left behind.

"I will tell her."

* * *

"You put the lime in the coconut, you drank them both up. You put the lime in the coconut, you drank them both up."

Tony swayed his head along to his song as he poured himself a coffee in the break room. There was no lime or coconut involved, but a man could dream. Particularly if the man had been having a crappy couple of weeks that he'd like to forget. The case they'd caught that morning would help to keep his mind off things, and frankly he was pleased that he'd have something to concentrate on tomorrow while EJ, Ziva and Gibbs were all in Florida. It was just a shame that a young woman had to die to give Tony a break from the melodrama his life had become.

He shook his head at himself and dumped three sachets of sugar into the coffee. "You drank it all up."

"Drank what up?"

Tony looked over his shoulder at EJ as she wandered into the break room. She looked tired but beautiful—the same way she'd looked since the day he met her—and he offered her a warm smile.

"Erica Jane, I'm currently indulging in a fantasy where I'm on a beach in the Bahamas and drinking cocktails," he told her. "Join me, won't you?"

EJ came up beside him and looked inside the mug at his coffee. "Kind of offended I'm not already in the fantasy."

Tony paused and gave her an exaggerated wince, as if he feared he was in trouble. "I'd only gotten as far as the sun and the cocktails. I swear you were next," he said, and then underlined the statement by leaning over to kiss her neck.

EJ smirked and took his mug to sniff it. "Is there any rum in this?"

"Sadly, no."

She took a sip anyway, and then almost gagged. "You can barely even taste the coffee over the sugar."

"Just the way I like it."

She handed it back to him and shuddered for effect, and then changed the subject. "Have you seen David around? She's not in the bullpen."

"Hmm?" he asked, buying himself some time as he tried to think of a way to avoid talking about Ziva with EJ.

But EJ wasn't interested in sidestepping. "I've got news from Fornell."

Tony abandoned his avoidance plan and turned his head quickly to look at her. "What? What's going on?"

"He made an arrest," EJ replied, relief shining in her eyes. "Remember I told you that the lab found some residue on Ray's neck?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah, you said they thought it could have been saliva or something."

"Nasal secretion," EJ told him. "His killer sneezed. They got his DNA."

"And a match?" Tony guessed.

EJ nodded as her smile grew. "Yep. Matched a guy named Albert Colquorn. He's ex-special forces. And they also found a fingerprint on the plastic sheeting that was a four-point match to him. Not usually enough on its own, but with the DNA they've really got something."

Tony broke into a smile that matched hers. But there were still pieces missing. "Did he have any connection to Ray?"

"He was the focus of one of Ray's old cases," EJ told him. "Doesn't look like Ray put him away, but he tried. I'm sure more will come out in Fornell's interview."

"Definitely not Port-to-Port."

"No," she replied, her eyes filling with determination. "But we'll get him."

In his heart, Tony knew from that first night that Port-to-Port hadn't been involved. It was a shame that crazy killer was still out there, but at the same time he was genuinely relieved, for Ziva _and_ EJ, that it looked like this case had been solved. Not just because it would give them both some closure, but also because it meant that there _wasn't_ a copycat out there who might be coming after EJ as well.

The break room was still empty save for the two of them, and so Tony put down his coffee cup and wrapped his arms around her. EJ hugged him back, breathing into his neck as he kissed her temple.

"It's great news," he said to her.

EJ nodded against him. "Yeah. I'm just glad Fornell moved on it before the funeral."

Tony would bet the house that it would give Ziva something to smile about as well. He gave EJ a final squeeze and let go, and her smile turned uncertain.

"I, um," she started, and then hesitated as she scratched her chin and averted her eyes. She swallowed and looked up at him briefly. "I'm just not sure if I should be the one to tell David."

Tony understood her reluctance. She'd done the death notification, which Ziva had taken like, well, _Ziva_. But the two of them were clearly not the closest of friends, and EJ had mentioned previously that she felt like Ziva probably disliked her even more after she'd fronted up to tell her that Ray had died. Tony had dismissed her concerns, saying that Ziva wasn't going to hold a grudge over something EJ had no part in. He thought that she probably wouldn't give a damn _who_ told her about the arrest as long as someone did. But he also doubted that EJ would have to do it herself.

"Wouldn't worry about it," he said, and picked up his coffee again before moving to the table. "If Fornell knows, Gibbs knows. And if Gibbs knows, Ziva knows."

"But you didn't know," EJ pointed out.

Tony shrugged and sat down. He wasn't offended by being kept out of the loop this time. "I'm sure they've got their reasons." Knowing Ziva, she probably didn't want to get her hopes up until the suspect was charged. And it occurred to him that she hadn't been officially ruled out as a suspect yet. He thought it was likely that she hadn't received the full story of the arrest yet, so it was possible that she felt she didn't have anything to say aside from that there'd been an arrest. He made a mental note to tread carefully when he spoke to her about it. That was, if he got a few seconds of private time to talk to her at all before the end of the day. Despite lingering in the break room, he knew he had a case to get back to soon.

He looked up and caught EJ checking her watch. "When does your flight leave?"

"Hour and a half," she said. "I'll have to leave soon. Is she flying down tonight?"

The 'she' seemed out of place, and it occurred to Tony that EJ rarely used Ziva's first name. Not that it was important right now. "No. She and Gibbs are going down first thing in the morning."

EJ's eyes floated to a place over his shoulder. "It's a kind gesture of his to go with her," she mused.

It didn't seem like that big of a deal to Tony. "Yeah, well he loves her like a daughter, so I can't say I'm surprised."

EJ's eyes came back to him and she looked at him thoughtfully for a few seconds before pulling out the chair beside him and taking a seat. "I really do see that, you know? The way he treats you all, he's still your boss but there's a real sense of paternal love under it all."

"And that's why he gets away with smacking us."

She smirked and then rested her chin on her hand. "I feel like Cade and Levin are my brothers," she told him. "I'd take a bullet for them. But…I don't know. When you say that that team is your family, I can tell that you feel that down to your bones." She paused to look at him carefully, as if she was trying to test out a thought in her head before she said it. "You all are going to be in each other's lives when you're 90, aren't you?" she finally asked.

Tony watched her back with interest, trying to work out exactly what she was getting at. He wanted to take the comment at face value, but there was something more to it. He could feel it. He just couldn't work out what. "Yes," he answered honestly. "They are family."

EJ took that in, and then glanced away before throwing him what was probably supposed to be a light, casual smile. But she didn't quite pull it off. "You don't think of her like your sister though, do you?"

And they were back to where they were at the beginning of the conversation, with Tony wanting to avoid any talk of Ziva with EJ. Because she was right; he had never once thought of Ziva like a sister. Only he couldn't say that now. It sounded too incriminating. He went for a joke instead. "Well, that's what Abby and McGee are. My sisters."

EJ's forced smile turned genuine, and she rolled her eyes before she took a breath to say more. But Tony really didn't want to get into it or be pushed to give a real answer, so her cut her off and made her focus on explaining herself.

"Why the interest in Gibbs Family dynamics?"

EJ shrugged and dropped her eyes to watch her fingernail scrape an old drop of coffee off the tabletop. "I don't know. It just seems…nice."

She appeared to be genuine, and Tony wondered if this was all about her looking for a place of her own to belong. She'd moved around a lot in her life and had never really had a permanent place to call home. Tony could relate, and that was one of the reasons he thought they clicked. From the moment his mother died until he arrived at NCIS, he'd moved around every two or three years. And although he didn't recall ever making a conscious decision to settle in and stay put, he definitely felt the relief that having a stable home brought. He and EJ hadn't exactly discussed their future past the next weekend, but it wouldn't surprise him if she was tiring of temporary life and looking for a place to make her home. The thought made his stomach tighten, but he couldn't work out if the feeling was born of happy nerves or uncomfortable alarm. He filed it away to consider later.

"Nice?" he echoed. "I think you might be the first person in a long time to think that spending time with Leroy Jethro Gibbs is nice."

EJ smiled and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I grew up in a military family," she reminded him. "We have different ideas of what nice is."

"You'd have to."

EJ pushed back her chair. "I should go. Got to grab Cade and Levin on my way out. But," she paused and put her hand on his, "I'll be back in the afternoon and then we can spend some time together tomorrow night?"

Tony nodded. "Sounds good," he said, and met her halfway for a quick kiss goodbye. "Take care of yourself, please."

EJ got to her feet with a self-confident smile and cocked her head at him in agreement. "I always do."

* * *

The rest of the night was spent working the case of the dead navy recruit that Team Gibbs had caught that morning. They were flat out trying to get as much done as possible before four agents became two in the morning, and it left no time for Tony to pull Ziva or even Gibbs aside and comment on the arrest of Ray's killer. He'd tried to catch her eye a few times as they sat across from each other, but it was obvious that Ziva had too much on her mind. She had thrown herself into the case and picked up even more work than she usually did, and Tony had to wonder if she'd done it deliberately so that she wouldn't have even a spare moment to think about what awaited her in Florida in the morning.

The only time she had paused was when McGee had returned from a coffee run, put a large white cup on the desk in front of her and given her a shoulder a brief squeeze. As Tony watched from across the great desk divide, Ziva had paused, looked up and given McGee the kind of grateful smile that Tony didn't think he'd ever been on the receiving end of. It made him wonder if she'd found time to fill McGee in on the arrest—perhaps while Tony had been in the break room with EJ?—and he felt a little stung that she hadn't even mentioned it to him.

Not that he was going to make a _thing_ out of it.

In fact, he'd resolved to let the whole thing go completely until she got back from Florida and Fornell had hopefully charged the suspect before he said anything. But then, as he'd been making his way back to the bullpen after a quick trip to the head, he saw his opportunity. Ziva was standing by the elevator with her handbag over her shoulder and her coat over her arm, and it looked like she was finally heading home to get an entire three hours' sleep before she had to get up and get on a plane. Of course, Tony held deep doubts that she would get any sleep at all. He suspected she'd spend the next few hours cleaning her guns again and trying to meditate herself into readiness for the day to come.

As he came up to her, he reached out and tugged gently on her sleeve to get her attention. "Hey."

It took her a moment to blink herself out of her thoughts before she turned her head to look up at him. He leaned against the wall beside the elevator and gave her a small but warm smile.

"I heard the news."

Ziva blinked again, and then let him see the relief that she felt shining in her eyes. Her lips stretched in an honest smile, and Tony thought that he was sure he hadn't seen her with such peace on her face for a very long time.

"Yes," she said, her voice deep and low to give the conversation some privacy, even though there was no one else around. "It is wonderful news."

Tony nodded and let his smile grow. "It is. And Fornell will make it stick. Don't worry."

"I know he will," she said. "I just hope he can charge the suspect before morning."

"Well, I guess he's been at it for five or six hours now," Tony said. "My guess is he can't be too far off it."

"I hope. I would like for Ray's mother to be able to bury him knowing that someone is going to be held accountable."

Tony nodded slowly, wondering how much she knew about the suspect and what he could say. He decided not to say anything more unless she asked. "What time's your flight?"

"At 0600." She paused, and her head fell to the side in apology. "I am sorry for leaving you and McGee with so much work to do tomorrow."

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically in an attempt to put her mind at ease. "You know, between that and the way Gibbs has been carrying on all night and reminding me how to do the most basic special agent duties, I'm starting to get the feeling that you two think I sustained some kind of head injury today."

The playful look that entered Ziva's eye before she looked him up and down made Tony want to break into a huge smile. This was the old Ziva who he knew, loved and missed. "Today?" she questioned. "No. But I think this injury has been snowblowing for a while, yes?"

Tony held it in for all of half a second before he burst out laughing. He shook his head firmly, and had to cross his arms over his chest to stop himself from reaching out and hugging her hard. Sometimes her little mix-ups just _killed_ him. "Snow_balling_," he corrected, when he got his breath back.

Ziva looked at him curiously. "Oh. What is snowblowing?"

"Google it," he told her, and then held up a warning finger. "But _not_ on your work phone."

Ziva nodded to herself as the elevator dinged, and Tony found that he almost wanted to explain the word himself, just so that he could see the look on her face. But then the doors opened and she stepped inside, and he felt that the moment was lost. He moved to stand in front of the doors as Ziva hit the button for the ground floor, and instead of adding to her sexual slang dictionary, he offered a word of advice that he hoped she could use.

"Hey, be nice to yourself tomorrow," he told her. "Don't come back with any bruises."

Ziva cocked her head to the side, and it was clear that she didn't understand him. Tony lifted his fists and mimed beating himself up, and then looked at her pointedly. He watched as her face relaxed in understanding, and then her eyes softened in thanks. Tony gave her a wink, and they stood there, watching each other, until the doors slowly closed between them.

Tony kept watching the doors for a few seconds, wondering whether it would be worth talking to Gibbs about Ziva's tendency towards self-flagellation at times and reminding him that he might have to go hardass on her to stop her from beating herself up. But he knew it wouldn't be necessary. Just like he'd told EJ earlier in the evening, Gibbs thought of Ziva like a daughter. And although Tony sometimes liked to think that he was the one who knew the way Ziva thought better than the others, he knew it wasn't always true. If anyone knew how to handle Ziva at the funeral of a loved one, it would be Gibbs.

* * *

**Okay, I know this chapter was a little light on, but it's leading up to more meat. Please continue/begin to have faith in your author. Or don't. Whatever. I wouldn't blame you :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks to those of you who still have faith in this one. I know it's much tougher to read than my other stories (for the T/Z fans, at least) so I really appreciate that you're hanging in there.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

The end of the Port-to-Port case caught them all by surprise.

It did not come from a brilliant investigative leap by any of the scores of agents involved. It didn't come from a game-changing forensic discovery, or through the most sophisticated intelligence channels. Instead, it came when the killer got too brazen, entered the home of a navy lieutenant without taking enough care to check his surroundings, and was shot dead by the lieutenant who had mistaken him for a home intruder. When they arrived on scene Team Gibbs didn't even realize what they were dealing with. Not until they went through his backpack and found a plastic sheet, knife and rope. And even then, they had to wait for DNA analysis to be completed before they could say with any confidence that it was highly probable that the P2P killer had been brought down.

That confirmation came through three weeks after Ray Cruz had been buried and his killer had been charged. With the end of Port-to-Port, Ziva felt that she was finally beginning to get her head back above the water line. Her life was hardly worry-free—her working relationship with Tony was strained and often painfully over polite to compensate for how uncomfortable things really were—but at the very least, she felt relief over those two big cases coming to an end.

The relief was spread across the rest of the team, too. So much so that even though it was a Monday, they had hit the bar early for celebratory drinks at 1800. Gibbs had ordered pens down at 1745, and Ziva and McGee were only too happy to oblige. But when Gibbs left to round up Abby, Ducky and Palmer, Tony had somewhat awkwardly told the others that he'd made plans with EJ, Cade and Levin. McGee extended the invitation to join them to Barrett's team, but Tony had politely refused on their behalf. And when Abby had started whining and cajoling, Tony had excused himself with an apology and a promise to meet up for another round of drinks some time that week.

She knew she was alone in the feeling, but frankly Ziva was relieved. The two of them had managed to avoid spending any time together outside work since Tony had stayed at her apartment the night that Ray died. Of course they hadn't discussed the arrangement—that would require talking, and it seemed they were doing their best to avoid doing that too, unless it was work-related—but Ziva felt there was a definite unspoken agreement that they should start to separate as much as possible. If Tony avoided drinks tonight, Ziva could go. Then, later in the week when Tony fronted up to their favorite bar, Ziva could excuse herself from tagging along. She didn't have to explain this to McGee or Gibbs. Her teammates were aware of the disturbance—McGee because Ziva had briefly mentioned that she and Tony were taking several big steps back from each other, and Gibbs because he was _Gibbs_—but Abby, cocooned in her lab and cut off from the daily back-and-forth between the formerly dynamic duo, took Tony's absence as a personal statement about his feelings towards the team.

"It just feels all wrong," Abby told them over her drink in the bar. "Everything's askew now that he refuses to come."

Ziva shifted uncomfortably in her seat and swallowed down her feeling of guilt with a sip of wine.

"Tony is spreading his wings, my dear," Ducky told Abby with a kind hand on hers. "He is pursuing what he wants in life. We should be happy for him."

"I _am_ happy for him," Abby insisted. "I think it's past time that he tries to settle down and gives Husband DiNozzo and Daddy DiNozzo a go. And I like EJ. I just wish that he was bringing her and Cade and Levin to us, instead of leaving us to be with them."

Ziva took another sip of wine—this one much larger than the last—and glanced around the table. When she found Gibbs' sharp blue eyes on her she sent him a brief smile that she hoped would satisfy his curiosity and then looked away.

"Well, Abs, sometimes things just work out naturally and for the best," McGee said.

Abby set down her glass with a thump and leaned towards her friend in challenge. "You can't honestly think that Tony leaving us is _natural_ or _for the best_."

"No," McGee said, but his real response was in the heavy, warning look that accompanied the word. Clearly he was trying to suggest that she get a clue and stop talking about it, but Abby just frowned back at him like he was crazy.

"What?" she asked.

Ziva drained the rest of her wine and pushed her chair back to stand. "Excuse me," she said, and then leaned down to speak to McGee. "I might visit the bathroom so that you can discuss this less awkwardly." She patted his shoulder and then left the table and let herself be swallowed by the crowd.

It took her a full three minutes, three grabs of her butt and two rejections of dances to get to the bathroom. As expected there was a line, and so she took up her place at the end and checked the wall for anything that looked like bodily fluids before she leaned her shoulder against it with every bit of heaviness she felt in her heart. It seemed like it wasn't enough that her relationship with Tony was now awkward. Now it was spreading to Abby, who seemed to be the only one who didn't instinctively understand why Tony was backing away. And Ziva knew how this would go. Abby would sulk about it for weeks, complain to Gibbs, Gibbs would order Ziva and Tony to work it out, they wouldn't be able to, and Abby would sulk _more_. Ziva had never had much patience for that side to her friend's personality, so perhaps she should try to head it off before it started. Perhaps she had to take Abby aside and tell her that things were just going to be awkward for a while, and ask for patience.

If only Ziva could find some patience for herself.

It had only been about a month since her talk with Tony in the locker room, so rationally she knew that she couldn't expect everything to be back to normal by now. But she still found herself regretting how she'd handled the conversation. She regretted laying it all on him like she had, even after he'd insisted that she do it. She regretted making it clear, even without saying the words, that she loved him. Telling him that at the same time that she was 'ending' things and while he had a girlfriend made her feel pathetic and whiny and needy and, frankly, bitchy. She regretted being so harsh, because she knew that beneath his glossy exterior, Tony could be extremely sensitive. She knew her words would have bruised him. But on the other hand, she didn't think the conversation could have gone any other way. He'd been determined to have it, and she'd been determined to let go. So she had to make sure he understood her and leave no room for misunderstanding. Because as good as Tony was at picking up on subtleties with strangers and suspects, when it came to matters involving himself he often ended up utterly clueless.

So yes, she had regrets. But what was done was done. She had to deal with the situation she'd created, but patience wasn't helping. Neither was grace, ignorance or evasion. She had to do something to fix this, one way or another. Because she could no longer stand the way he looked at her. His gaze was never normal. It was either sad or regretful, or too happy when they'd had an exchange that was like the ones they had right back in the early days before everything had gotten so complicated and tangled. More than that, she couldn't stand always feeling so uncomfortable around him. She couldn't stand how an accidental brush of their shoulders now made them jump apart like a bomb had gone off between them. She couldn't stand the torturous silence when they were alone together in the office that used to be so comfortable. She couldn't stand the constant feeling of wanting to apologize to him. She couldn't stand the feeling of EJ Barrett sitting right over her shoulder, and she definitely couldn't stand the sick feeling of jealousy she got every time she looked up from her desk and found Tony smiling at the woman behind her. And God, she was so sick of feeling jealous. Because she really and truly, down to her soul, wanted Tony to be happy. Like Abby, she wanted him to give being a husband and father a go. She had no doubt that he had it in him. That he would excel in both roles, even if he would question his abilities daily. She hated that from now on, there would never be an appropriate time to tell him that.

But most of all, above everything else, Ziva hated that this was all her fault. She was the one who called it quits and ended their non-relationship. She was the one who made him sad and uncomfortable and guilty. And she was the one who was responsible for him avoiding any team get-together that Ziva would be at to spend time with Agent Barrett, instead of bringing Agent Barrett's team into theirs. She was 100 per cent the reason that Abby was now feeling annoyed and abandoned. And yet, she still knew that she'd done the right thing. Maybe _that_ was the thing she hated the most. That she had done the right thing, and it still sucked beyond belief.

Tears of exhaustion over the entire situation burned the back of her eyes, but Ziva did what she'd done a million times before to stop them from falling. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth until she was sure she had control of herself. She didn't want to be _that girl_ in the bar who cried and attracted all the sympathetic, pitying or sneering looks of strangers. She still had her pride, if not her common sense. Because now, under her calm veneer, she was panicking that it would never stop sucking. What if, five years from now, she still occasionally caught a sad look in his eye when he looked at her? Or blame, or bitterness or, even worse, nothing? What if ten years passed and she still couldn't stand to hear about his wife or child? What if throughout their lives he just kept on trying to support her through every tragedy, and she was just too weak to stop him? Like the night they found out about Ray, and she ignored the strong voice in her head telling her not to let him into her bedroom because she just needed his company too much.

What if she lived her whole life and just never got over him?

That strong voice in her head spoke up again now with the answer she didn't want to hear, but knew was probably right. Maybe it was time to request a move to another team. Or another agency. Maybe it was time she did what she'd thought about doing weeks ago, and faked the empty heart she needed to pick up and walk away from him for good. It wasn't what Ziva wanted, but honestly, it would probably be the best thing for everyone. Not just her and Tony, but the whole team. It would remove the distraction. The weak link that surely they could all feel forming. There was just too much at stake if they were thrown off by the daily up and down between them. Someone could end up dead, and if Ziva felt guilt now over the situation she'd caused, she knew it would be nothing compared with what she'd feel if things went bad in the field.

Besides, she tried to reason, perhaps it would be good for her career to be exposed to another team. Perhaps it would open up opportunities she couldn't even imagine right now. Just as taking up the liaison position at NCIS had changed her life, there was nothing to say that it couldn't happen again. Moving away didn't mean that she wouldn't still be close with the others. She would still call Tim and Abby. Still visit Gibbs. Still Skype and share tea with Ducky. And while she was away, things between the rest of them would go back to normal. The way they'd been before she arrived and threw everything into chaos.

She took a deep breath and the determination she felt started to grow inside of her helped push her off the wall and stand up straight. Now that she had a solution to her problem, it was time to put it into action before she could let weakness creep in and stop her. She abandoned the line for the bathroom, turned around, and, as luck would have it, almost ran straight into Gibbs heading to the men's room. She called out to him before she could think through the repercussions of her decision any further.

"Gibbs?"

Gibbs' bright blue eyes met hers, and Ziva stepped across the thoroughfare to join him. She turned them so that they were standing outside of the flow of people walking between the bathrooms, tables and bar, and then lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and drew a breath.

But Gibbs leaned in to her before she could say a word, and held a stern finger up to her face. "No," he said firmly.

Ziva frowned. She knew Gibbs had a sixth sense (and possibly a seventh and eighth), but how could he already know what she was going to say when she'd only just come to the decision herself? She decided that he didn't, and tried again. "I think—"

"Don't you listen?" Gibbs cut in, his eyes narrowing with irritation. "I said no."

Ziva stared at him, lips parted and forehead creased. There was no way he could possibly—

"I don't want to know what's going on between you two. Or _three_," Gibbs told her, confirming that he did, in fact, have some measure of understanding over what she was trying to talk about. "But you're going to have to work it out. And you're going to do it without pissing me off any more than you already have. You hear me?"

She did, but that didn't take away her stubbornness. She'd found a fix for this whole damn mess, and she wanted to be heard. "I just think it is time that I look elsewhere. To make things easier for everyone—"

Gibbs cut her off one more time with a sharp smack to the back of her read. Ziva followed the order to shut her mouth, and leant back a little bit as Gibbs wagged a cranky finger in her face again.

"_No_, David," he repeated in a tone that could not be argued with. "I ain't sayin' it again." He replaced the finger with a light tap on her cheek that was more affectionate than punishing, and then turned and walked away from her. Conversation: over.

Ziva's shoulders sagged as she watched him go. She had no doubt that he knew what she was going to propose. He had probably been waiting for her to get to this point for days. Maybe weeks. And although where she worked and what she did with her life wasn't Gibbs' decision, Ziva knew that he would find a way to make it impossible to leave. Unless she did something drastic. Like shoot him. Or go back to Mossad. Or sell the few US Navy secrets she knew on the black market. But all of those options seemed somewhat radical for the situation.

She would need another plan.

The heaviness settled on her heart again as Ziva headed back to the table, but she tried to shove it down and act like nothing was wrong. The last thing she needed right now was Abby or Jimmy Palmer needling her over what was on her mind.

She slid back into her seat beside McGee and noted that there was a fresh glass of wine waiting for her. She picked it up and tipped it at McGee in thanks, and he gave her a quick smile in response. Then Abby reached over the table to grab her hand, and carried on as if there had never been any awkwardness between them tonight.

"Good, you're back," Abby said. "You've got to help me explain to Jimmy why proposing to Breena at Comic-Con is not as romantic as he thinks it is."

That was certainly enough to dislodge Ziva's focus from the mess with Tony. She looked across the table at Jimmy with her eyebrows raised in surprise. "You are planning to propose to Breena?"

Jimmy flushed at the attention, and simultaneously smiled with goofy happiness. "Well…not yet. I'm thinking that I want to, though." He paused, and his expression changed to something akin to apology. "Sorry, Ziva. I wasn't going to tell you yet because…well…lately you've had some…uh…you know…"

Ziva saved him from his nervous stuttering. "You are referring to the fact that my ex-boyfriend wanted to marry me, but I didn't want to trust him or put up with his lies, so we fought and broke up and then he was killed before we could make peace." Had she forgotten anything?

Jimmy nodded enthusiastically and smiled like he was so relieved that she understood why _he_ was having a hard time talking about it. "Yeah. Exactly."

Ziva didn't take offense. It was _Jimmy_, for God's sake. The man had probably never meant offense in his life. "Other people will continue to fall in love and become engaged and get married," she said, assuring him that talking about such things was not a taboo topic around her. "I would not stand in anyone's way of that. I am happy for you."

Abby made another grab for Ziva's hand. "Ziva, _you're_ going to do all those things one day."

Ziva knew she meant well, but she _really_ wasn't in the mood to talk about that. In fact, it was almost certain that Ziva would never be in the mood to talk about that. Worrying aloud and to other people about such things was not her style. She sent Abby a polite smile, and turned back to Jimmy.

"I think it is wonderful," she told him.

Jimmy flushed deeper. "Thank you.

Ziva nodded, and then addressed what she considered to be the bigger issue. "Now. What on earth is Comic-Con?"

* * *

Across town, Tony was perched on the edge of his couch while he tried to pull on his boots and watch _Goldfinger_ at the same time. It seemed like it should be a simple task, but he'd already pulled his left boot onto his right foot and had to start again. But his mood wouldn't be dampened by a little shoe mix-up. And it wasn't being completely driven by classic Bond. No, Tony was in a good mood—a _damn_ good mood—because for the first time in weeks, things seemed to be getting better. The Port-to-Port case had placed a huge strain on Team Gibbs and EJ's team, and for a while he'd worried that the killings would drag on for months or even years while they scrambled to find the evidence they needed to close in on him. But now that the case was over, Tony felt a weight lifted off his shoulders. He had cases in Baltimore that had turned cold, and while they weren't in the front of his mind these days the feeling of failure still sat in the back of his mind and slowly ate away at him. He didn't want the Port-to-Port to join those two other unsolved cases in his head, and now it wouldn't. It was a good day.

His wish would be to spend the night celebrating with Gibbs and the others, but that just wasn't going to happen. And that was okay. Spending it with EJ, Cade and Levin was more than good enough, and honestly he was kind of looking forward to spending some time with EJ without Port-to-Port in her thoughts. The whole time he'd known her, the shadow of this killer had darkened her mind. Now that it was over, he wanted to know who she was. He wanted to find out what surprises she had that she hadn't been able to share with him yet. He wanted to try to work out what kind of future they might have.

He wasn't planning to leave to pick her up for another 20 minutes, but now that his boots were on (on the right feet) Tony was ready to go. That was how he'd planned it when he turned on the TV after getting home and seeing that a Bond marathon was about to begin. Before he left for the night, he wanted to spend a little time in ritualistic relaxation with Sean Connery. That wasn't weird, was it?

His plans were interrupted by the knock on his front door, though. Tony's first instinct whenever someone knocked on his door or rang his cell phone was to assume that someone had died. As he got off the couch and went to the door, he crossed his fingers that his respite from horrible murder cases would last a little longer. It was hard to tell if his prayers were answered or not when he opened the door and found EJ standing there. She might have just been planning to get their night started early, or she might have dropped by to tell him that a sailor had been shot. Judging by her outfit—jeans and a t-shirt instead of something slightly dressier to fit their plans—and her tight smile, he worried it was the latter. But he pushed forth his positivity anyway. He wasn't letting go of his good mood just yet.

He shot her a smile as he stepped aside to let her in. "You're early," he told her, and paused to drop a kiss on her lips. "But that's okay. I've had _Goldfinger_ on while I'm getting ready. I love a little Pussy Galore."

EJ rolled her eyes over a smirk, assuring him she understood his double (single?) entendre. "Yeah, I've noticed. But…we need to talk."

And with that, Tony knew exactly why she'd come by early. He understood her tight smile and casual clothes. He understood that they wouldn't be going out to celebrate tonight. Not because there was another case that demanded they put their lives on hold for another week, but because she'd uttered those four words. _We need to talk_.

He swung the door closed, and then crossed his arms over his chest and took a step away from her. "Ahhh," he said at length, as if he saw the path ahead clearly. "Are we gearing up for an _it's not you, it's me_ speech?"

EJ swallowed and looked up at him with confirmation and apology. "It's not you," she started. "But it's not me either."

Tony nodded as his mind raced over what that could mean. The pang in his chest travelled to his throat, but he swallowed it away so that he could indulge in his hurt and surprise for a moment and take a little swipe at her. "So, is this going to be a dump and run? Or will you stay long enough for a drink?"

EJ looked disappointed by him but took the comment on the chin. She pointedly dropped her bag on the floor and replied, "A drink would be great."

"Great," he echoed, and gestured towards the dining table. "Have a seat and I'll be right back."

He left her to find her own way and disappeared into the kitchen where he grabbed two beers from the fridge and then the bottle opener from the drawer. As he popped off the bottle lids, Tony took a deep breath try to tamp down his frustration. What the hell was going on here? His first thought was that it had something to do with Ziva, but he'd been keeping his distance from her for weeks. There were a few days after Ray died where he knew he was stretching himself between the two of them, but he'd felt like he and EJ were back on track. And EJ hadn't made any comments about his friendship or partnership or _anything_ 'ship' with Ziva for ages. So he really doubted that Ziva had much to do with what was going to happen tonight. Despite the stress of the Port-to-Port case, things between him and EJ had been pretty fun. The company was still good. The sex was still good, and as of yesterday they were still having it. So what the hell had happened?

He tossed the bottle lids in the trash and then carried their beers back to the dining table. Time to face the music. As he approached, he watched the nerves on EJ's face disappear under a smile. He handed her a beer and then sat at the head of the table. EJ held out her bottle as if it was a peace offering, and in that moment Tony decided to let it go. She'd clearly already made her decision—damn it, one of these days _he_ was going to be the one to make the fucking break up decision—and he could sense that as far as EJ was concerned, that was that. No point in fighting it. He clinked his bottle against hers, agreeing to peace, and then they both drank. The beer didn't burn like the whisky he suddenly craved would, but it'd do. After a few seconds of silence he raised his eyebrows at her in question, and EJ began to explain herself.

"I had a meeting with Vance today," she told him. "Long story short, he's offered me the position in Paris. I haven't given him my answer yet. He's given me 24 hours." She paused then, and slowly nodded as if she was reassuring herself of her decision. "But I'm probably going to take it."

It was so far away from anything that Tony had been thinking that for a moment he just stared dumbly at her. Then things started falling into place. "Is that where you ran off to for an hour today?"

"Yes. I had to discuss it with Cade and Levin. I told Vance that if I agreed, I'd want to take them with me." The corner of her mouth lifted. "He'd already anticipated that. And the boys are keen."

Tony nodded as he turned it over in his head. It seemed strange to him that Vance would make two extra positions for Cade and Levin. Hell, it seemed a little strange that he'd offer the position that already existed to EJ. Particularly since it wasn't at the level she was at right now. "Paris isn't even a team leader position," he pointed out.

EJ bobbed her head between a 'yes' and a 'no'. "Not exactly. It's a taskforce position. I wouldn't be leading it, but I'd still have responsibility for Cade and Levin."

Alarm bells rang in Tony's head. "I hadn't heard anything about a taskforce."

EJ swallowed a sip of beer and bought some time by licking the residue off her lips. "I can't say too much."

The alarm bells got louder. In Tony's experience, shadowy 'taskforces' almost _never_ ended up going well for anyone involved. There were sacrifices that you were forced to make, and at the end of it you came out a different person to who you were going in. The idea that she might be setting herself up for a huge personal and professional fall worried him, and he wanted to tell her flat out to let it go and leave it to someone else to do. But EJ Barrett was headstrong, competitive and determined to climb the ladder. Tony wouldn't know where to begin to convince her to reject the offer. And he had a feeling that trying would only make her more determined to take on the challenge to prove to him—to _everyone_—that she could do it.

Nevertheless, he had to say something or else he wouldn't be able to live with himself. He leaned forward over the table and met her gaze. "EJ, are you sure that this is what you want to get involved in? Because it sounds cloak and dagger, and I've known agents who have gone into a situation and come out—"

EJ held up her hand to cut him off, and then let it fall to briefly squeeze his forearm. "I know. I have too," she told him. "But I know what I'm getting into. And I think it's important enough for me to leave here and take it up."

Tony held her gaze, and what he saw there gave him an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu that he couldn't quite place. He'd seen this look of determination before, and knew that he'd been just as unnerved then as he was now. He believed that she wholeheartedly wanted to work on whatever project Vance had lined up, but he also believed that she wanted to use it to make a name for herself. He supposed he understood where she was coming from. Once upon a time he'd wanted to make a name for himself as well. But then he'd ended up with Gibbs, and making a name for himself just didn't seem that important anymore. Yeah, he still joked about it. But if he had to choose between rubbing shoulders with the brass and backing up his team and getting his hands dirty, he wouldn't have to think about it. His team, his unit, would win every time. In them, he'd found a place to belong. EJ was still looking for her place, and while he doubted she'd find it in Paris, he hoped she found it before the political game of snakes and ladders sent her spiraling too far down.

"Okay," he finally said. "I don't like the sound of it, but you've got Cade and Levin to watch your back."

Her smile warmed briefly. "I do."

Tony leaned right back in his chair and took a long pull from his beer. "What did Vance say? Was the offer a 'congratulations for your work tracking a serial killer' thing?"

EJ lifted her eyebrows and let them fall quickly, and Tony guessed that she didn't think so. "I think it was more of a 'good job, but I don't have a place in D.C. for you' thing."

"Hm," he grunted. He didn't exactly buy it, but he couldn't flat out reject the idea either. "Well, you've got to take these opportunities when they come to you, huh?"

EJ didn't respond to that, but watched him carefully. He couldn't hope to guess at what she was thinking, but the way she was looking at him made him uneasy.

"What?" he asked.

She sighed, as if giving in to the thoughts in her head, and then reached out across the tabletop to him. "Look, if you thought that you would maybe like to come too, I'm sure Vance would see the benefit in having an agent of your caliber there."

Tony almost choked on his beer. First, she'd wounded his pride and fed his hurt by breaking up with him. Second, having his ex-girlfriend (who would probably go back to being his girlfriend if he accepted the offer) go to the Director to bargain for a job for him when, to be frank, he was a better agent than her was even more wounding to his pride. And third, asking him to move to frigging France with her when they'd only been dating for a few short months was very confronting. He liked EJ. God, he really, really did. And if there wasn't a great big partner-shaped roadblock in his head and his heart, he thought that their relationship probably would have moved faster and turned a lot more serious that it had. He was surprised that EJ seemed to be willing to turn things up so much in one single move, and maybe that took some of the sting out of being dumped. But Tony knew he wasn't willing to go to the place she was. At this point in their relationship, he simply wouldn't consider leaving his weird little family for her. Even if the potential to build his own family with EJ was there.

He could tell by the way her smile dropped by just millimeters that she'd read his mind, and he felt a stab of remorse for bringing her down. But he had to.

"It's not really what I'm after," he told her, attempting to focus on the professional side of the decision rather than the personal.

EJ nodded, but gave it one last shot. "You seem kind of restless here, Tony," she said gently. "Like you're looking for some kind of change."

He smiled because she was right, but also completely off base. "Yeah, but not this kind of change."

Although she didn't ask for further detail, EJ smiled with acceptance, drew her hand back, and swallowed about half her beer in one go.

"So. When do you go?" Tony asked, moving back to safer topics.

"I'll tell Vance tomorrow," EJ told him, wincing at the bitterness of so much beer hitting her all at once. "I guess I'll probably be out of here by the end of the week."

Tony wasn't surprised at the timeline. He'd never known Leon Vance to move slowly after a decision had been made.

"I'll look you up next time I'm there," he offered, but he wasn't sure if he meant it.

"Next time, huh?" EJ repeated. "I didn't know you'd been there before."

"Once," he told her. "Overnight. It was a fly in, fly out deal."

"I guess you didn't see many of the sights."

Tony cast his mind back to that trip in the winter of 2010. He had managed to do some sightseeing in the morning before the flight, but his main memory of that trip was of a half-asleep Ziva pressing herself into his side and hugging him tight through the night as she slept. And he remembered the feeling of relief that spread through his whole body and brought tears to his eyes when he started to think that maybe it meant that after the horror of Rivkin and Somalia, he'd finally gotten her back again.

God, he wanted that feeling again right now.

He had enough sense to realize that it probably wasn't the kind of admission EJ was looking for right now, though. So he answered her question on face value. "Not really. A little. What I did see was beautiful."

EJ lifted an enticing eyebrow at him. "Maybe next time you can spend the whole weekend."

He cracked a smile. "Yeah. Maybe."

They fell into silence for a few moments as they both took time to order their thoughts and think about what the least awkward way to end the conversation would be. Unsurprisingly, Tony attempted humor.

"Well, you can't say 'it's not you and it's not me'," he challenged lightly. "It's _completely_ you."

EJ looked like she wanted to argue, but then fell into a smirk and chuckled. "Okay, fine. It's _mostly_ me," she bargained. "But it's a little you, too."

Before he could stop himself, Tony cocked his head to the side in interest. He wondered how he'd been to blame for any of this when it was Vance's job offer that was causing her to leave. Too late he realized that he probably really didn't want to hear what she had to say about his boyfriend skills, and that it would be safer to live in a world of delusion. EJ had already seen the look, taken note and made a list, and now she was going to share it.

"This was never going to be a long term thing…" she hesitated half a second, "…for you." She shrugged and rolled her eyes at herself. "I don't know, Tony. Maybe it wasn't for me, either. But I knew your heart wasn't in it. I think you wanted it to be, and I'll never say you didn't try. But…the heart wants what it wants."

Tony blinked at her with surprise as he immediately thought back to that argument he'd had with Ziva years ago after his relationship with Jeanne Benoit had gone to hell. At the time he was sure that he was throwing Ziva's own words back at her, but she'd denied ever having said them. He watched EJ carefully now for any sign that she might be trying to make a point with the turn of phrase. Did she know somehow that it was significant to him and Ziva? Surely she couldn't. But he didn't doubt that Ziva was still the point behind her words. He thought about the night before Ray Cruz's funeral when he and EJ had talked in the break room. She had made a comment that Team Gibbs would be in each other's lives until they were 90. He knew she'd been hinting at something else with the comment, and now he thought he understood what that was. EJ had realized that Ziva was always going to be around in his life, and she was probably thinking about whether she'd be able to accept that long term. He supposed that Vance's job offer made it a moot point now.

He leaned over the table again and gave her a look of genuine regret. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

She returned a bittersweet smile. "I am too." She paused to pick at the corner of the beer label, and then looked up at him with interest. "Can I give you some advice as someone who has absolutely no hard feelings?"

Every impulse in his body screamed _no_, but his mouth ended up saying, "Sure."

"You should talk to her," EJ instructed bluntly. "I know that idea must feel about as daunting as climbing Everest. But I think it probably only feels so hard for you because you don't know how to be happy."

Tony's eyebrows arched upward. Well, that was slightly presumptuous. And offensive. And probably true. He didn't have an immediate response that he was comfortable sharing aloud, so he sat in silence and braced himself for the next piece of advice.

"You should talk to her because every relationship you have in the future is going to have three people in it," EJ continued. "Unless it's your relationship with her. Now, I don't know if you already know all that and that you've just accepted it as the way it is. Or if you know it but you're still fighting against it. Or maybe this is all news to you and you really have no idea." She paused to aim a skeptical look at him. "But for you two, it goes deeper than being partners. I worked that out pretty soon into this." She chuckled. "Ray felt it too. He said it felt like you were right there in the middle of their relationship and he could never quite get her full attention."

Tony frowned deeply. He hadn't been aware of that. Ray had been the one to tell him that Ziva said she thought of him like a brother. Had he been saving face? Trying to create some distance? And was this what EJ had been referring to the night after Ray died when she suggested there was more to Ziva and Ray's split than he knew?

"Maybe if this had lasted longer then something would have started to change," EJ was saying as Tony tuned back in. "But I have a feeling that long term, I'd be in a relationship with both of you. And I don't think she likes me very much." She added a smirk for levity.

"She doesn't really like anyone," he replied distractedly. God, there was just so much in what she'd said that he had to process.

"She seems to like you," EJ pointed out.

Tony shrugged. "Sometimes."

EJ leaned forward to impart a final piece of advice that, like everything else she'd said tonight, seemed to be genuinely devoid of bitterness. "Look, I just think that you guys need to sort it out. If not for your benefit, then for the benefit of your future romantic partners."

Tony knew she wasn't airing grievances with the aim of making him suffer and apologize. But he felt the guilt all the same and dropped her gaze. It sounded like EJ had been ahead of the game almost from day one. Certainly ahead of where he'd been. Of course he was aware of his feelings for Ziva when he took up with EJ, and was even aware of the non-relationship the two of them were in. But he hadn't considered that he'd carried her into his relationship with EJ. Not to the degree that EJ was making out. And considering that he'd made an active effort to focus on EJ and step away from his partner, it kind of sucked to know that he seemed to have failed.

He could see that from EJ's perspective, talking to Ziva about it might look like the solution. But it just wasn't that easy. Not because he didn't know how to be happy (although, damn, he thought EJ might be on to something there and it scared the crap out of him), but because Ziva had made it crystal clear that she didn't want him. Not even if she loved him. Looking at it that way, perhaps _that_ was where the solution was. Ziva didn't want him, there was no chance of a real relationship, and the solution was in him accepting it as fact and getting the hell on with his life. Not that he knew how he'd be able to do that when he spend most days no more than ten feet away from her.

Jesus. Maybe the time had finally come for him to leave the team. If he could get away from her and not see her every day, then surely it would make life easier for both of them.

The _thud_ of EJ's empty beer bottle hitting the table interrupted his thoughts, and Tony looked back at her in time to see her push back her chair and get to her feet.

"I should go," she told him. "Got a lot to sort out before tomorrow."

Tony stood up and followed her to the door. He grabbed her bag for her and handed it over, and EJ shouldered it with a smile of thanks.

"I'm sorry," he told her suddenly. "I really did try. I really did want it to work."

EJ reached up and put her hand on his cheek. "I know you did, Tony."

He reached up and took her wrist to bring her hand down. The gesture was just a little too reminiscent of the last breakup he'd been through. "Promise me now that you're going to watch your back in Paris," he said.

One corner of her mouth pulled back, and he knew exactly what she was going to say. "I always do."

He blew out a sigh. "You always do," he repeated. If only he believed it.

EJ opened the door but looked back at him before she stepped into the hallway. "I really hope everything works out for you, Tony."

He gave her a final DiNozzo smile for the road. "You too, Erica Jane. And congratulations."

She leaned back in to the apartment to press a soft kiss to his cheek, and then turned and walked away. Tony didn't watch her go. As the heels of her boots thumped down the hall towards the elevator, Tony closed the door and wandered back to the dining table to sit back and finish his beer in dejected silence.

And it was only them that he realized they'd had an entire conversation about Ziva without ever using her name.

* * *

**I know a lot of you were probably glad to see this development, but I hope you got something else out of it than just "Woohoo! She's gone!" You can have that too, of course ;) **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Apologies for the delay on this one. Feelings and stuff and things.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

In a rare show of kindness and generosity, Gibbs allowed his team the next morning off. Although by Gibbs' standards, that meant that the team didn't have to show up to work until 0900. It was hardly a great respite, but the gesture was appreciated all the same. Rule number 55: Never look a gift Gibbs in the mouth.

Ziva had just enough to drink at the bar the night before to ensure that she would sleep through the night instead of staying wide awake and worrying about the mess she was in. A mess that seemed to be getting messier by the day. She realized that the drinking probably hadn't been the best idea when she woke up at 0600 with a clanging headache, a fuzzy mouth and a delicate stomach. She was stuck in a cycle where the sick feeling fed her worry and her worry fed her sickness. By the time she stepped into the elevator at the Navy Yard at 0900, she was seriously considering a plan that started with throwing up everything she'd eaten since 1989, and culminated in running away to Siberia, Gibbs and his orders be damned.

Two other agents who had probably been at work for two hours already got into the elevator with her carrying large cups of coffee. Instead of perking her up, the smell almost made Ziva gag. She breathed steadily through her mouth, tried to control the urge to throw up right there, and gave the agents a polite smile. She assumed they would just return it and continue with their conversation, but when Hanlon and Ruiz saw her, their eyes lit up as if they'd just won a prize.

"Hey!" Hanlon said enthusiastically as she flicked her long bangs out of her eyes. "How's DiNozzo doing this morning?"

Ziva's stomach rolled as she was reminded of what awaited her in the bullpen, but she returned what she assumed was just polite small talk. "We had a late start this morning. I have not seen him yet."

Ruiz and Hanlon shared a sympathetic smile, but Ziva felt like there was something else going on. The smile was _too_ sympathetic. It had to be a cover. But Ziva didn't have a clue about what their real intentions might be.

"I didn't get the impression that it was too serious," Ruiz said. "I mean, maybe it was. But with his reputation…" She trailed off to leave her elevator buddies to fill in the rest.

Ziva frowned deeply and rubbed at her temple. She was missing something. "What wasn't serious?"

"Him and Barrett," Hanlon told her. "You didn't hear yet?"

Ziva's heart picked up its pace. "Hear what?"

"Vance offered the Paris job to Barrett," Ruiz told her. "She's taking it. Taking her whole team."

Ziva's stared at her dumbly. Was she hearing this correctly? "Barrett is leaving for Paris," she stated, just to make sure she'd gotten that right.

Ruiz nodded. "Yeah. Gone by the end of the week."

"I think something weird's going on," Hanlon said. "That position isn't for a team leader. I think her and Vance are up to something."

Ziva tuned the rest of the conversation out as she considered what it all meant. Barrett leaving would not fix the sadness, regret and distance between herself and Tony. The damage to their relationship had already been done, and it would not magically repair itself now that third parties were out of the way. And in fact, things may end up deteriorating even more. Tony did not handle break-ups well. He got overly reflective, then hurt, then angry, then a bit childish. After that he blamed himself for a while, then made grand statements about being relieved to be on his own again, until finally he acted like himself again. The entire process could take up to a year to complete, and during that time he often treated her and McGee with blatant disdain. If she was already at odds with him, would he decide to lash out at her and publicly blame her for everything?

That was one scenario. But Ziva could think of another that made her nausea even worse. What if he was going with Barrett to Paris? Hanlon and Ruiz suggested that they'd broken up, but they clearly didn't know the whole story. What if Tony had decided that now was finally the time to made a commitment? The thought made her heart constrict painfully, and the 95 per cent of her that still loved him desperately didn't want it to be the case. But the 5 per cent of her that had been trying to convince the rest of her to let him go saw the benefit. Last night she had wanted Gibbs to let her go to another team so that she and Tony could end almost all contact. But if Tony went to Paris, it would essentially do the same thing. Separate them as much as possible so that at least Tony could move on and live a happy life.

But as soon as the elevator stopped and the doors opened, Ziva knew that her partner was staying in the US. Barrett was folding some moving boxes at her desk, and she looked up just as Ziva stepped out of the lift. Their eyes met, and Ziva raised her eyebrows in question. Barrett cast her eyes down momentarily, and that was all the evidence Ziva needed to convince her Barrett was going to Paris _sans_ DiNozzo. When she met Ziva's eyes again, she gave her a small shrug and a nod. Yes, she was definitely leaving.

In that moment, Barrett reminded Ziva of Jenny Shepard again. She was choosing her career over what could turn into her most important relationship, just as Jenny had done to Gibbs. Both women had definite goals, and they had the focus and motivation to reach them. Leaving aside the fact that Barrett may just have broken Tony's heart, Ziva found that she couldn't blame her for her decision. She understood how hard it was to be a woman in a boys' club profession, and that if you wanted to get anywhere, you had to either make your own opportunities or take every single one that came your way. In the past, Ziva had made similar decisions that had advanced her career but ended relationships. It didn't make her heartless, just as it didn't make Barrett heartless now. All it meant was that you prioritized different things at different times in your life.

She wondered if Tony understood that.

She dragged herself over to her desk, now even less enthusiastic about starting the day than she had been when all she had to deal with was a hangover. Tony and McGee were already there, although Gibbs was nowhere to be seen. As she walked around her desk she watched Tony carefully. His eyes were glued to his keyboard as he hunted at pecked at keys, and there was a stack of file folders beside his elbow that hadn't been there yesterday.

"Good morning," she said to them both.

Tony briefly paused his typing to glance at her briefly. "Hey," he said. It was a subdued greeting, but normal enough to assure Ziva that she wasn't in his firing line today.

She looked over at McGee who smiled hello, widened his eyes in acknowledgement of the situation, and then cocked his head at her with curiosity.

"You okay?" he asked. "You look a little pale. Sick. Like me." He delivered the final line while looking at Tony, clearly attempting to get a normal DiNozzo reaction that would involve some teasing of the younger agent. But Tony didn't lift his eyes from his keyboard and didn't give any indication that he was paying any attention.

Although things had been difficult between them, Tony had been there for her when Ray had died. So now, Ziva tried to return the favor by opening herself up for regular DiNozzo teasing.

"I am hungover," she told McGee, while watching Tony for a reaction. There was none, so she added, "Very hungover. I drank far too much, and now I want to be sick."

Tony just kept typing.

Ziva looked at McGee, who winced at the situation they were in. She sat down and turned on her computer.

"I don't suppose Gibbs is similarly afflicted," she said to McGee.

"No, he's just gone on a coffee run."

"So it is just me?"

McGee's smile attempted sympathy but ended up somewhere in the vicinity of mirth. "I'm afraid so."

"Great," she sighed. "I sincerely hope that we do not get called to a crime scene today. Or I might contaminate the evidence."

McGee chuckled as Gibbs strode in carrying three coffee cups and a bottle of water. He put a cup down on Tony's desk, and then handed the water to Ziva.

"Here. You need this," he told her. "Get your hydration up."

Ziva didn't know how he'd known for sure that she would be hungover, but she appreciated the offering all the same. "Thank you."

Gibbs paused and looked down at her critically. "You look…not great, David," he said, and then had the audacity to smirk at her before turning away and heading to McGee's desk to pass out another coffee.

Ziva's eyes narrowed at his back. "Thank you," she replied through gritted teeth.

Gibbs was still smirking when he turned and headed back to his desk. Meanwhile, McGee smiled broadly at her suffering. She shot him a look of warning, and while he at least had the good sense to try to rein in his smile, he wasn't entirely successful. She sighed heavily, opened the bottle and took a careful sip.

"I did not do anything…silly last night, did I?" she dared to ask. But at the smirk she watched pass between Gibbs and McGee, she wished she hadn't.

"Uh, not unless you think singing _Vogue_ with Jimmy Palmer is silly," McGee replied.

Ziva stared at him, aghast. She didn't remember anything about that until…oh, God. She thought he might be right. "I was singing Madonna songs?" she asked, appalled with herself.

"Singing might be too kind of a description for what you were doing," Gibbs told her, deadpan.

Ziva screwed her eyes shut and dropped her face to her hands. If the headache and the nausea and the Barrett situation wasn't enough already, now she had to add embarrassment to the list of things to deal with that morning. Just wonderful.

She took a deep breath, made a wild grasp for her pride, and then lifted her head again. "Fine," she said, trying to make herself believe it. "That is…fine. I can live with that."

McGee chuckled. "Good. Because Abby videoed it. You can live with it over and over again, forever."

"Damn it!" she hissed, thumping the table with her fist. She heard a third chuckle join the other two, and looked across at Tony's desk. He'd finally cracked a smile, although his eyes were on his computer screen. Ziva decided she felt sick enough not to care that they were at odds. "Have _you_ seen the video, Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony shook his head. "No," Tony replied, and then waited a perfect beat before adding, "I'm saving it for my birthday."

The comment drew a full laugh out of McGee, and even though it added to her embarrassment, Ziva still could help smirking in response. Then she retaliated by picking up a rubber band and flicking it across the bullpen at his head. It landed on his keyboard instead—great, her aim was off today as well—and Tony's smile widened briefly as he plucked it off the keys and tossed it onto the stack of files beside him.

It was as close to being normal as they'd been in weeks.

* * *

Ziva spent the rest of the day battling her hangover, casting concerned glanced at Tony and trying to work out what the hell she should do now, if anything. Her gut instinct was to pull him aside and try to help him as he'd helped her after Ray had died. The problem with that was didn't know where the line between them had settled, and so she didn't know if she'd be overstepping it. Not only that, but her attempts at lending an ear and offering advice after he had broken up with Jeanne Benoit had been disastrous. With things so hard between them now, Ziva was hesitant to start another conversation with him that would lead to more yelling and sniping.

But…

She didn't want him to think she didn't care. Or worse, that she was pleased by this turn of events. Because she wasn't pleased. Not really. She wanted him to be happy, and as much as it made her want to be sick (and not just because of the hangover), Barrett had seemed to make him happy. She seemed to have given him whatever he needed at this point in his life. And because she wanted him to be happy, because she loved him, she wanted to support him. He was still her partner, and it seemed like he would continue to be for a while. She owed it to him to push aside her doubts and put herself out there for him.

She got her chance towards the end of the day when Tony left his desk for the bathroom. She gave him a head start, and then slipped away from her desk to follow him. She pushed open the door of the men's room with the same disregard she always had and found Tony alone and washing his hands. He glanced up at her and then heaved a sigh at her predictability. She knew where he was coming from. It seemed like most of their more important conversations had taken place in bathrooms and locker rooms.

Ziva locked the door, took a step towards him and clasped her hands in front of her. "I get to ask one stupid question every day, and I have been saving it for you," she began, hoping that her attempt at levity would reassure him that she was going to go easy on him. "Are you okay?"

Tony grabbed a paper towel to wipe his hands. "Great," he replied flatly, and then tossed the towel into the trash.

Ziva waited silently for the truth, but Tony was not forthcoming. He leant back against the counter and shrugged.

"Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer," he said, although his tone was devoid of malice.

Fair point.

She took another step towards him, until she was at one end of the counter and Tony was at the other. It was as close as she was willing to get. "I'm sorry, Tony," she said sincerely.

Tony lifted somber eyes to study her for a moment, and then averted his gaze again when it appeared that he believed her. He cracked a very slight, self-aware smile at the countertop. "No offense, Ziva. I can't talk about this with you. I'm sure you understand."

The words stung, but they were expected. And certainly understood. "I do," she assured him. "And so I should make sure you know that McGee has a very sympathetic ear."

Tony chuckled softly. "Yeah." He sighed heavily, and then met her eyes and offered her a smile that would only pass the scrutiny of a stranger. "I'm okay."

"I know you're not," she said deliberately.

Tony rolled his eyes, but didn't fight with her.

Ziva watched him as he avoided looking at her. He was clearly hurt, and she wanted to offer some kind of support that would assure him that she had his back. Flat out honesty was off the table, so she offered what she would have way back in the days when their relationship was not nearly as complicated. Back when she was 'the old Ziva'. Hadn't he once said that he missed her?

"I do not know if you remember, but several weeks ago I said that I would beat to death anyone who would hurt you."

That got his attention. His eyes snapped to hers and her looked at her warily, and Ziva held up a hand to calm him.

"I know it is unlikely that you wish…EJ dead," she said, forcing herself to use Barrett's nickname. "But I would be happy to punch her several times for you. If you do not feel that it would be appropriate to do it yourself."

Tony stared at her, and he only got that she was trying to make a joke (sort of) when she held her hands up, wriggled her fingers and then winked as she curled them into fists. He breathed out what was probably a chuckle of relief and shook his head at her.

"Most of it will be for your benefit," she continued over his silent and vaguely amused protest. "But I cannot deny that a part of me will enjoy it as well."

"Well, thank you," he said, playing along. "But as much as I like the idea of a front row seat to a chick fight between you two, I'm going to let this go without violence."

She snorted for effect. "Suit yourself."

His eyes fell to the floor between their feet, and Ziva let him have a few moments' peace as he ordered his thoughts. When finally he looked up again, eyes held a heavy, longing look that made her heart squeeze and breath catch. Then he blinked and the look was replaced by patented DiNozzo humor.

"Hey, you want to get drunk with me tonight?"

Just the thought of more alcohol was enough to push away her warm feelings. She felt her face screw up in disgust, and she closed her eyes and shook her head firmly. "I do not think that is a good idea," she replied. "And not just because I still have a hangover." God only knew what kind of trouble they would get into when they were emotionally vulnerable, missing each other and drunk.

Tony's smirk came quickly. "Probably not," he allowed. His smile grew and she felt the shift in the air to something less intense. "Madonna songs again, Ziva? I thought I was the only one you got drunk and sang Madonna songs around."

Ziva grimaced and shook her head at herself. Last night had not been her proudest, but if the idea of it gave Tony something to smile about today then she would let him have it. But _only_ today.

"Why is it always Madonna?" he asked her. "The last time you vogued in my company you strained your shoulder and had to book a massage the next day."

Ziva planted her hands on her hips and her mouth fell open with indignation. "That is not true!" she argued as Tony laughed. She had the urge to walk over there to literally kick his ass. If he'd made the comment even two months ago, she probably would have. But not today. Even if Tony was laughing at her.

"You said you had a massage the next day," he reminded her once he'd calmed down from his stress-relieving laughter.

"I already had that massage booked," she insisted. "_Before_ I mildly overextended a small muscle in my shoulder."

"While vogueing," he finished.

She glared at him, but allowed just enough of a smirk to touch her lips to assure him that she wasn't really angry. Much.

Tony sent her a smile that was half apologetic, half affectionate. "Seriously. Why is it always Madonna with you? You're not really a Madonna kind of girl."

Ziva threw her hands up with exasperation. "I don't—" she started, but then she realized that she _did_ know. Tony lifted an eyebrow in encouragement, and she gave him a measured look as she weighed up whether to share the story. She was supposed to be backing away from him. She was supposed to be trying to move their relationship to something entirely professional. She had been making progress on that in the last few weeks, and she was wary of giving him another piece of herself now for fear that she would fall back into old habits. But God, things just felt so _normal_ between them right now. It was a feeling that she desperately missed. She missed giving him something to smile about. She missed sharing her life with him. She missed _him_.

At her continued hesitation, Tony's smile fell. The humor in his eyes was replaced by the same hurt she'd seen reflected in them for weeks, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. The change in him sent a stab of regret through her, and although she made an attempt to tell herself to stay strong and back away, she failed.

She took a step towards him and told him the story. "When I was about 13 my mother bought me one of Madonna's CDs, and Tali and I would play it in the evenings." She paused to frown thoughtfully. "In retrospect, perhaps it was appropriate for an eight-year-old to sing along to songs about masturbation, but she did not understand. Actually, I probably did not understand it completely either. Perhaps there was still a language barrier."

Tony looked like he didn't buy it. "You've been speaking English since you were two."

"Since I was six," she corrected. "Not fluently until a teenager. And I do not recall ever receiving sexual education classes in English, so how was I supposed to know what she was singing about?"

Tony held his hands up, yielding to her argument.

She went on. "One of Madonna's concerts was televised. We recorded it and spent the next few weeks learning the choreography for her songs. For a few years after that, whenever we were very happy, or very sad, or just bored, we would sing and dance around to her music. It was just a silly thing that lifted our spirits." She shrugged. "I suppose it has stayed with me."

Tony gave her a soft smile. "Sounds nice."

"It was."

He looked at her with interest. "Why did you need your spirits lifted last night? Weren't they high enough with the end of the Port-to-Port case?"

Ziva smiled without warmth. There was about as much chance that she would talk to him about her worries from last night and her plan that Gibbs had shot down as there was that he would talk to her about his break up with Barrett. "Sprits can always be lifted more," she replied vaguely.

As he contemplated that, Tony's head fell ever-so-slightly to the side and he narrowed his eyes. Ziva recognized the look as her partner switching into investigator mode, and she immediately averted her gaze from his and crossed her arms in the hope it would keep him out of her head. Damn it, she should have listened to her gut. She should never have shared that story and let him close again. It was another moment of weakness she knew she would regret.

"So, all those times you went Material Girl on me were because you were bored and trying to lift your spirits?" Tony asked.

Ziva knew the comment was not serious, but it made her jaw clench. Because the truth of the matter was that _he_ lifted her spirits. When she sang Madonna songs around him it was because she was drunk, because he'd probably already fixed whatever had been bothering her, and because she knew it always made him laugh. But those days were gone.

She swallowed and met his eyes again. "Yes. You bore me," she replied, attempting flippancy. But her voice and tight smile betrayed her.

Tony picked up on her discomfort and his smile slowly fell away. His eyes ended up on the floor, and the easy feeling between them from just moments ago evaporated.

Ziva cleared her throat and took a step back towards the door as she prepared to leave. "Well. The offer of violence remains. Let me know if you would like to take me up on it."

Tony shot her a quick smile. "It's appreciated."

Ziva nodded and turned to the door. She was keen to get out of there and start building some space again, but she only managed to unlock the door before Tony stopped her.

"Hey," he called softly.

Ziva took a breath to calm herself and then turned around to face him. Tony's eyes were warm again, and she found herself hating how easy he made it for her to let herself be pulled back to him.

"Thank you," he said simply.

She offered a small, self-aware smile. "For what? Embarrassing myself and promising violence?"

A fond smile stretched his lips before he reined it back in and looked at her gratefully. "Amongst other things."

She wanted to smile back. She wanted to offer him the same comfort that he'd offered her in her bedroom on the night Ray died. But she didn't have a clue how to do that without allowing herself to be in love him. And since she knew she couldn't do that, she simply nodded and then left the room.

* * *

Two hours later Ziva was down in the Navy Yard gym with McGee. They were getting in a quick training session before calling it a day and heading home like Gibbs and Tony already had. She was putting her weight into holding the punching bag straight for McGee, but she knew he couldn't have been putting much effort into his punches because she certainly wasn't putting much effort into spotting him. Instead, their efforts were focused on gossiping about their senior field agent and the situation he now found himself in.

"I just don't really get why EJ's going," McGee said before landing a left cross on the bag. "It's not a team leader position. Why's she moving all the way to Paris for a demotion?"

Ziva had been wondering the same thing. Which was why she had done some digging around in the afternoon to try to find out what was going on. "Apparently Vance has set up some kind of taskforce."

"What taskforce?"

"I do not know," she said. "It is under the radar."

"Is that what Tony said?"

"No."

McGee landed a one-two cross. "But you talked to him."

Ziva peeked around the bag at him. "Yes. But it should come as no surprise that he did not want to speak to me about Barrett."

"Guess not," he said, and wiped sweat from his forehead with his forearm.

"I told him to talk to you."

McGee froze with his hands in defensive resting position and looked at her like he couldn't believe she'd done it. Ziva smirked, and then ducked back behind the bag.

"Yeah, thanks," he said, and then hit the bag a little harder than he had been. "I can't wait for that heart-to-heart."

"He needs a friend," she explained. "But perhaps he will talk to Gibbs and you will be off the hook." It wasn't that she thought that McGee _wouldn't_ offer an ear to their friend. It was just that a conversation of that kind between the two of them was likely to be quite awkward. Tony rarely talked about his feelings—rarely even admitted to having them—and Ziva thought it was likely that he would try to save face by teasing McGee until he felt less vulnerable about sharing them.

"He's not going to talk to Gibbs," McGee said confidently. "Not after he told Gibbs he was going to pursue the relationship and screw rule 12."

Ziva supposed he had a point.

"So if you didn't talk about EJ, what did you talk about?"

"Drinking too much and Madonna songs," she replied. "And he refused my offer to beat Barrett up for him."

McGee leaned around the bag to looked at her with wide, wary eyes and an arched eyebrow. "Are you joking?"

"That he refused?"

"That you offered."

She shrugged like it was no big deal. "No. But I was joking. Mostly."

McGee's expression turned warning. "Ziva—" he began, but she cut him off with an exasperated sigh.

"I am not going to beat her up, McGee," she insisted. "It has nothing to do with me, it is none of my business, and I am staying out of it."

He watched her for a few more seconds until he was positive she was telling the truth, and then wandered over to get their water bottles from a nearby chair. She followed him as he ripped open the Velcro around his wrists and then pulled his boxing gloves off. Ziva picked up her towel and her bottle of water, and after McGee took a sip from his own bottle, he gave her a curious look.

"Is there a small part of you that's relieved it's over between them?" he asked. "And that she's going to be living on the other side of the world by the end of the week?"

Ziva widened her eyes as if she didn't understand him. It was all still too raw and too hard to talk about. "Why would I be relieved?" she asked, hoping that her puzzlement would effectively end the conversation.

McGee dropped his head to the side and regarded her like he couldn't believe she was trying to play him. But, classy gentleman that he was, he didn't throw it in her face. He played along on her terms, but Ziva knew he was directing her to the position he wanted her. "Well, because you and Tony have been at odds lately, and EJ leaving might help relieve some of that tension."

Ziva allowed him a rueful smile and shook her head. "I do not think that is the case," she told him honestly.

McGee gave her a compassionate look. "What happened?" he asked.

"When?"

"I don't know," he said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "Whenever it was that _something_ happened and caused this…" he paused to wave his hand at her, "…shift in your relationship."

Despite growing closer to McGee in the last year, Ziva had not told him anything about the conversation she and Tony had in the locker room. In fact, she had never told him anything about her feelings for their teammate. It was hard enough to admit what she felt to herself, let alone say it aloud to another person. And anyway, she did not feel that it was necessary to say anything about it to McGee. He worked right alongside them every day. He saw the looks that passed between them. He heard the comments. There were days when Ziva thought that McGee probably had the best idea out of all of them about what was going on. He did not need her confirmation that she'd fallen for Tony. It was obvious. But he also did not need to know the particulars of how it had all fallen apart. It was a private matter between her and Tony, and it needed to stay that way so that they could all keep trusting each other.

"We just agreed that we needed to change," she said simply.

McGee arched an eyebrow. "You told me that before. How's that working out for you?"

Ziva shook her head and turned her back to put her water bottle down again. "I do not want to talk about it," she said, and then reached for her towel to pat the sweat from her face.

"Right," McGee said, his voice flat at her dismissal.

She felt a twinge of guilt for blocking him, and so turned around and brought their conversation back to its original topic. "I will say this about Agent Barrett. I think it is a shame that she is leaving. Tony took a chance and put himself on the line. I think we both know that he wanted to commit to it, and it should have worked out. It is not fair that it didn't. And I feel terrible for him."

McGee nodded along sympathetically. "Yeah, I guess," he said, although he didn't sound convinced. "It's just…you know." He lifted his eyebrows and gave her a knowing look, like he expected her to follow his train of thought. She didn't.

"What?"

McGee winced, wiped his face and then tossed his towel onto a chair. "I just don't think she was his first choice."

Ziva's heartbeat sped up momentarily, and she swallowed hard to try to rid her chest of the sharp pang that sliced through it. She wished McGee would not make comments like that. She did not need him planting hope within her, and she pushed it away before it could take too much of a hold on her. "Well," she said roughly, "we cannot all have our first choices. But we may still find happiness anyway."

He gave her a kind smile. "I guess so."

Ziva nodded and gestured at the punching bag, and McGee picked up his gloves and strapped them back on. He rolled his neck and shook his arms in preparation, and once Ziva had a hold on the bag again, he threw a hard left hook.

"Enough about Tony," McGee declared, and then landed another one-two punch. "How are you doing now? After losing Ray, I mean."

That was a topic Ziva _was_ prepared to talk to him about. And she had done, at length, several times. There were no romantic feelings between her and McGee that might get in the way of her being honest and him offering solid support. McGee was completely safe, her brother to the core, and she trusted that whatever she told him would never be repeated to another soul. It was just a shame that he was also so close to Tony, or else McGee would have been the perfect candidate to help her unravel the knots of complication in her head.

"I am…okay," she told him on a sigh, feeling more than a little guilt that it was the truth. Shouldn't she still be grieving? It had only been a month. She rushed to add context so that McGee would not think she was heartless. "I am still sad, and I will always hate what happened. And I regret our last conversation. I do not think we would have reconciled, but I would have liked to end things properly. Not in anger. I wish I had just taken the time to explain my position to him."

"You don't think he understood it?" McGee asked.

Ziva stared at the floor as she thought about that. "He may have understood that I did not want to be lied to, but I do not think he believed he was lying to me. I think he believed he was just doing his job and that I should have accepted it." She winced as McGee landed a hard punch, and pulled her head back from the bag. "Five years ago, I probably would have."

"You can't carry around the regret, Ziva," McGee told her, sounding far too much like Tony for her liking. "It'll eat you up."

"So I am told."

He paused and leaned around the bag to look at her with a smile of encouragement. "You should make the next phase of your like the no regrets phase," he said. "Tell people you love them, don't hold grudges, don't indulge in silly fights and bitterness."

She made a face at him. "But if I do not do those things, what am I supposed to do with all my free time?"

McGee broke into a smile. "You have free time? Don't tell Gibbs that. He'll get you working on cold cases."

Ziva returned the smile and decided to take his words to heart. She reached up to pat his sweaty cheek. "You are a wonderful friend, McGee. And I am thankful for every day that you are in my life. I love you to pieces."

McGee beamed, but gave her a gentle shot in the shoulder. "I love you, too," he returned. "But that wasn't exactly what I was getting at."

She narrowed her eyes. "I know you are not telling me to talk to Tony right now," she said warningly.

McGee's eyes went to the ceiling as he thought it over. "I honestly don't know what you should do there," he admitted. "But being friends is a good start. You've seemed…well, not _better_. But maybe calmer together in the last week."

Ziva gave him a smile that she knew she failed to scrub the sadness from. "We are not friends."

Instead of arguing the point, McGee bobbed his head to the side in mild agreement. "No, I suppose you're not. But you should work on being whatever it is that you've always been together." He aimed a glove at her face in what she supposed was an attempt at pointing at her sagely. "That's not a relationship, no matter how it's categorized, that you should give up on. Take my word for it as someone who's been watching it unfold all these years."

Ziva held his gaze until she felt the back of her eyes start to burn and she had to look away. She knew that he was just trying to be supportive, but essentially telling her that her relationship with Tony was the most important one she had was not helpful. Not when she was determined to step away.

"Can we stop talking about me?" she asked. "Can we instead talk about you and Maxine?"

McGee gently kicked her foot, telling her he was letting her off the hook, and then returned to the bag. "Sure. Let's talk about me and Maxine."

"Did you see her this weekend?"

"Yeah. We stayed up late on Friday night and played _Modern Warfare 3_."

"Is that a video game?"

"Yes." He paused and aimed a besotted smile at the punching bag. "She kicked my ass."

"Did you let her?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "No. She's better than me."

Ziva watched him with a warm smile. "I am glad you committed to working on things with her."

McGee bumped his fists together and nodded his head. "Yeah. I am too." He threw her a grin and then took a defensive stance and started throwing punches again.

Ziva held on and pushed her weight into the bag, and as McGee continued his assault she made herself focus on the feeling of happiness she had over McGee's relationship instead of the despair she felt over what she currently had with Tony. Because although not everyone got their first choice in partner, some of them did. McGee, Jimmy, they were both settling comfortably into relationships that made them happy. That made them better. And if Ziva couldn't have that for herself, then she had to use other people's happiness as a reason to get out of bed every day and work to help them keep it.

* * *

**With love to Zaedah. And happy holidays to you all.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I think I've given McGee more lines in this story than he's had in the show in the last four years. Poor McGee.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

It was the first stakeout he'd been on without her in a long time.

Over the years it had become normal practice for Gibbs to split the team's stakeout shifts into himself and McGee during the day, and Tony and Ziva through the night. It was about 0300 on a freezing night in January last year that Ziva had developed a theory about Gibbs' method. The theory went that Gibbs could only stand to be in a confined space for hours on end with someone who could be as quiet, still and patient as himself. Emphasis on _quiet_. According to Ziva, Tony talked way too much, and by the end of an eight-hour shift he had a habit of giving voice to every single thought that entered his head. And she considered herself too restless for Gibbs to stand. Although she'd been trained by the Mossad to stay quiet and still for hours on end, doing it in a car when all the wanted to do was break down the bad guy's door and drag them out by their ear tended to sour her mood. Tony could attest to that. It was usually somewhere around the six hour mark that he started feeling waves of frustration, impatience and anger coming off her, and he didn't doubt that Gibbs would prefer not to deal with Ziva in that mood.

It said a lot, then, about how keenly the others felt the rift between him and Ziva that Gibbs would deviate from his preferred stakeout strategy. Instead of spending the night camped in an agency Charger in downtown D.C. with Ziva, Tony got to spend the night with McGee. They had eyes on an apartment building that housed the suspect in a case they'd caught a few days ago. A sailor had died of an overdose on bad ecstasy a week before he was supposed to report to Norfolk, and Team Gibbs thought they had tracked his dealer down to the building they'd been watching all day. Although they had been working the case for days they didn't have any good evidence that their suspect was involved. Hence the stakeout. They were hoping to catch the comings and goings of buyers to help them build a case.

Tony had memorized the suspect's file earlier in the day as he'd tried to find a clue to why he was apparently doing what he was doing. But all he found were reasons why he shouldn't have been doing it. This time last year their suspected dealer had a wife and two little kids, and a nice little house in a nice part of town. Two months later the wife had kicked him out, and a month after that he'd been fired from what seemed like a secure job as a civil servant. Team Gibbs had assumed that the drug dealing followed the breakdown of his marriage and loss of his job, but both his wife and his old boss said that the drug dealing came first. Neither of them could work out why he'd started.

Tonight, Tony was more interested in why he hadn't _stopped_ when his life started falling apart. As far as they could tell, he wasn't a drug user himself. And before he'd lost his job he hadn't been in financial stress. He didn't have a gambling problem, he had a clean record, he didn't appear to have any mental health issues, and until recently he had a wide and strong support network of friends and family. Now, all he seemed to have was a run-down one-bedroom apartment and a prison sentence coming to him.

"Imagine the thud when you hit the ground after falling from such a height," he murmured aloud.

He wasn't talking to McGee, exactly. But the probie answered anyway. "It's a pretty good anti-drug PSA."

Tony narrowed his eyes at the archway leading to the apartment building. "Why'd he keep doing it? If he was trying to make extra money for his family—and why else would he have started doing it?—then why continue after the family kicks him out?" He shook his head. "If he'd just stopped he could've saved his marriage. He could've kept his kids. I don't get it. What are we missing?"

McGee sipped from his water bottle, screwed the lid back on and dropped it into the cup holder between them. "I don't know," he said. "Some people just don't know how good they've got it until everything's gone. And then it's too late to fix it."

Despite his determination to keep his head focused on the job tonight, the comment turned Tony's thoughts to his personal situation. EJ had gotten on a plane to Paris a week ago, and while he wasn't missing her as much as he should have after seeing her for a few months (and didn't _that_ make him feel like a jerk?), her physical absence was combining with the emotional absence of Ziva to make him feel uncomfortably alone and sad.

"Yeah," he said on a sigh that was far too heavy to be a response to McGee's comment. He held his breath and hoped that McGee wouldn't catch on to what he was thinking about, but the heavy silence that followed was enough to tell him that he needed to brace for impact.

"So," McGee finally said, trying too hard to sound casual, "speaking of things _going_…"

Tony shot him a warning look out of the corner of his eye. "What?" he asked, even as his tone suggested that McGee had better _not_ tell him 'what'.

McGee pursed his lips, weighing up the intelligence of bringing a conversation about _emotions_ into a stakeout situation that neither of them would be able to walk away from for another five hours. He had to know it was a stupid idea, but he pushed ahead anyway.

"How are you doing?" The question was bad enough, but McGee delivered it with a pleasant smile that made Tony want to punch him in the face.

He stared at McGee until the younger agent broke his gaze nervously, and then pointedly answered the question on face value. "My ass is going to sleep," he stated. "How are you?"

McGee had the gall to make a face at him. "I don't really want to talk about your ass."

"Good."

"But if there's anything _you_ want to talk about…" McGee started, leaving the statement open in invitation.

Tony sent the invite straight back to him, unopened. "Not even a little bit."

"Because you haven't had the smoothest ride lately."

Tony clenched his jaw. Why was McGee pushing it? He knew he was being clear that he didn't want to talk about it, and he knew McGee was getting the message. It wasn't like he was talking to Jimmy Palmer here, who would never learn how to take the temperature of a conversation and had to be told point blank to shut the hell up. McGee was a human conversation barometer. Why the hell wasn't he taking the temperature now? Why in God's name did he think that having an emotional conversation _at all_, let alone one on a stakeout, was needed?

He thought he might end the conversation with silence. But after only half a minute of peace, McGee asked a direct question.

"Have you talked to EJ since she left?"

Tony ignored with twinge in his chest. "Nope."

"Did you see her to say goodbye?"

"Nope."

McGee paused. "So…that's it?" he asked, incredulous. "She's gone so now she's just _gone_?"

"That's what a break up is, McGee," he replied irritably. Why did he have to explain this?

McGee shrugged. "Well, yeah," he allowed. "But you broke up because of circumstance, right? Not because it wasn't working out."

"Still broke up," Tony said, and then looked over at McGee so that the other agent could read the warning not to continue on his face. "It's over and done with," he said firmly. "No point in dragging out goodbyes."

McGee swallowed and had the grace to avert his eyes. "Right."

Tony watched him in profile and found himself sighing. McGee was wearing that wounded puppy expression that he did so well. The one he brought out when he was reprimanded for doing what he thought had been the right thing. Tony hated the expression because it always made him feel so bad. And since he'd had enough of feeling bad in the last few months, he made an attempt to go a little easier on McGee.

"Look, probie, I'm fine," he insisted. "You don't have anything to worry about. You know how many women I've broken up with in my life? Hundreds. This is no big deal."

McGee glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Except that it is," he muttered.

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"You sure?" McGee challenged. "Because from the perspective of someone who is forced to spend every day about ten feet from you, listening to you go into way too much detail about your love life it really seemed like you were serious about her."

"I never talked about my love life with EJ," Tony said defensively, but that only spurred McGee only more.

"Exactly!" he said, as if Tony was making his point for him. "That's how we know you're serious about someone. _You don't talk about it_." He paused, but otherwise did a good job of ignoring Tony's glare. "I guess if I were you, I'd be upset that I'd decided to take a chance on something that should have worked out, but it didn't."

Tony chuckled condescendingly at McGee's theory. "Well. That is some top class McEmpathizing, McOprah. But it's not like she was my Stedman. It was just a good time. Now it's over I'll just find a good time with someone else."

"A good time, huh?" McGee repeated, clearly aware that Tony was lying through his teeth.

But Tony refused to give in and admit it. He resorted to deflecting the attention with derision. "I know the concept is foreign to you, Elf Lord."

For what had to be the hundredth time since they met, McGee responded to Tony's jibes with a tired sigh over a hard punch. "So," he said heavily. "You were heading to a grown up place and a grown up relationship with EJ. But the relationship didn't work out, so now you're completely giving up on growing up, and you're going back to the juvenile place. Is that about right?"

Tony scowled at him. "What juvenile place? _You're_ a juvenile place!"

"Sleeping around," McGee answered, focusing on the gist of the question if not the actual words. "Acting like you have all the time in the world…"

Tony held his hand up. "Either I'm a juvenile or I'm old and running out of time, McGee," he argued as his voice started to rise. "You can't make me both."

"You're both," McGee stated calmly. "Believe me."

"Hey, you know what?" Tony snapped back. "Breaking up with Ziva wasn't actually my choice, Tim. It was hers. _All hers._ So you can't pin stepping back from the grown up place on me. _Not my choice_."

McGee stared back at him silently for a moment, and Tony thought that meant that he's successfully made his point and that McGee would start minding his own business. He was wrong.

"EJ," McGee finally said.

"What?"

McGee narrowed his eyes briefly, and Tony couldn't help but feel like he was being psycho analyzed or something. "Breaking up with _EJ_ wasn't your choice."

Tony frowned at him deeply. "That's what I just said," he replied irritably.

McGee shook his head. "No, you said that breaking up with _Ziva_ wasn't your choice."

Tony's pulse skyrocketed with panic. "What? No I didn't," he insisted, even as his thoughts raced back over the last 30 seconds of the conversation. Shit, he thought McGee might be right.

"Yeah, you did, Tony," McGee continued.

He thought about arguing the point, but decided that would draw more attention to it than he wanted. "Slip of the tongue," he said dismissively. "Your nagging reminds me of our warrior princess mother hen. You're as bad as each other." He paused to wag a knowing finger in McGee's direction. "That's why you two get along so great these days. You both love commenting on situations you know nothing about."

"Uh-huh," McGee grunted. He wasn't buying it.

Tony shot another glare at him. "Stop it," he warned.

"What?"

"You've got that look on your face like you're trying to put two and two together to make a-ha."

McGee stared at him impassively for a moment. "That makes no sense."

Tony shifted in his seat until his body was angled as far towards McGee as it could go, before he leaned in and pointed another finger, this one far sterner, in his partner's face. "Ziva and me were never together," he said firmly, making sure McGee understood every word. He wasn't going to put up with teasing over this. "_Never_. It was a slip of the tongue. Not a divulgence of some big secret."

McGee didn't appear threatened by the warning, but nodded easily. "Uh-huh," he said again, but this time he sounded like he believed the story.

Tony watched him until he was sure that McGee wouldn't argue, and then turned back to sit in his seat properly. "Good."

"You and her—"

"Don't," Tony cut in immediately. "Don't start." He wasn't prepared to say anything more about himself and _her_ and what their relationship was or wasn't to McGee.

But McGee was not giving up. "Okay, look," he started, his voice taking on that peacemaker tone that Tony sometimes envied and sometimes loathed. "I know you like to do things your own way. Which is painful to watch, because your way is always terrible. But I am telling you, Tony. Don't just sit by and let your strange little indefinable relationship with her just disappear because you can't say two honest words to each other about the stuff that actually matters."

It was good advice, and maybe if Tony had been prepared for this conversation or wanted to have it in the first place, he would have listened to it. But he just couldn't do it right now. "If you lean over right now and try to hug me…"

"I won't do that. I'm saving all my hugs and kisses for Ziva."

Tony watched him keep his poker face for all of five seconds before he broke and laughed. Tony glared again. Only this time he was more annoyed that he'd let Abby plant such a ridiculous seed in his head, and that he'd been so jealous he'd let it grow.

"I can't believe you thought me and Ziva were dating."

"I can't believe she told you that," Tony returned. "It was Abby's fault. She got in my head."

"You know, it's half funny, half offensive," McGee said, although he displayed none of the offense he spoke of.

Not that Tony understood that side of it anyway. "What is so offensive about me thinking that a beautiful woman like Ziva might date you?"

McGee shook his head. "No, I'm offended that you think I would make a move on her when you're one of my closest friends. When _both_ of you are."

Tony paused. He hadn't considered that, but McGee was right. He had too much integrity for that kind of behavior. Tony actually doubted that McGee had even the vaguest of romantic feelings towards Ziva, but even if he did he'd probably put her on his 'off limits' list for life. But admitting that would be admitting that there was a reason he would be upset if McGee and Ziva dated. That wasn't going to happen tonight, so he changed the subject.

"I don't want to talk about this," he said frankly. "Let's talk about _your_ relationship. How's Maxine?"

McGee looked at him in surprise. "I didn't realize you knew her name."

"Of course I know her name," Tony insisted, acting far more offended that he had any right to.

"She's fine," McGee shrugged, but there was a pleasant little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"That's it?" Tony asked when it seemed like 'fine' was all McGee was planning on sharing. Sure, he'd just refused to talk about Ziva. But this was hardly the same. McGee and Ziva were close friends, whereas Tony barely even remembered what Maxine looked like. There was no need for McGee to be guarded about this. Unless he assumed (probably correctly) that Tony would make fun of him.

"For now," McGee replied.

"You guys game together?" Tony asked, and then shot imaginary guns through the windshield like he was playing a video game.

The look McGee gave him sat somewhere between pity and superiority. "Yeah," he grunted, like a teenager embarrassed by their parents' attempts to understand them.

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes to himself at the attitude, but didn't bother addressing it. "That's nice," he said instead, and then added thoughtfully, "It's good to have things in common."

He thought that was what he had with EJ. When they started dating it seemed like they had a lot in common. They had similar upbringings. They'd both spent a lot of time in high school at basketball and football games (him as a player, her as a cheerleader). They'd both spent too many summers at camps, or vacationing in the kind of places that were overrun by rich white families. They'd both struggled to find their way in college, and then landed in law enforcement and found it a perfect fit. They were both committed to their jobs, and loyal to their teams to a fault. But what else, aside from the job and vaguely similar histories, was the common thread that would have kept them together if she hadn't left? She hadn't really been a movie fan. She hadn't had a whole lot of time for them, and making the time wasn't a priority amongst everything else that she did want to do. They went to a contemporary dance thing once, and a week later a tribal drumming concert. Tony thought they were fine—he hadn't wanted to wander off to the bathroom until they were over or anything—but EJ had loved them both. Talked about them for days.

Another time she'd taken him sailing. Although Tony knew the ropes well enough from when he was a kid, and he now worked for the Navy, he honestly wasn't that fussed about boats. But EJ loved them. She'd talked about sailing down the east coast on her next vacation. Tony hadn't shown an interest.

Nor was he even slightly interested in her favorite weekend activity of sitting in a café for _hours_ while she ate breakfast, read the newspaper and just watched people go about their days. That was something Tony just couldn't understand. _Dinner_ was for lingering. At breakfast, you sat, you ate, you left. Done.

Tony sighed to himself as another bout of emotional confusion messed with his head, and almost missed that McGee was responding to his statement.

"Yeah, it really helps a relationship," he was saying like it was obvious, and he thought Tony was stupid if he was only just working it out now. "You know, gives you stuff to talk about."

But Tony was well aware of that, and his thoughts turned to Ziva. That was one of the things he'd been worried about when he thought of having a relationship with her. Surely he had even _less_ in common with her than he did with EJ? Being on the same team didn't count, and Ziva wasn't really into movies either. Okay, so she made the effort to watch them with him. And she remembered the names and the actors, and every once on a while she would make a reference to a movie that was _not_ The Sound of Music, and he'd want to kiss her for it.

He supposed they both liked guns, even if she was more fanatical about knives. They liked going to the firing range and trying to better each other. Ziva was amazing at lingering at dinner. She could make a bottle of wine last for hours until she gave in and opened another one, and brought out a surprise fifth dinner course. They did not have similar upbringings at all, unless you counted the difficult fathers and absent mothers that led to them both looking for stronger role models as adults. He knew that a lot of their arguing was just a performance that they both enjoyed putting on because it lit a fire beneath them, so that was a similarity. And God, they both had so much fun gently torturing McGee together.

But weren't all those similarities just trivial? He could have conversations with anyone about those things if he needed to. And there sure didn't feel like that many similarities there that would keep the conversation flowing over the next 40 years. Once one of them left the team or left law enforcement entirely, where would they find their common thread?

"What if you don't think you'll have anything to talk about?" he found himself asking McGee.

The younger agent remained silent as he watched a young guy in a baseball cap walk up the street towards the apartment building they were meant to be watching. But when he passed by the archway without pause, he replied to Tony. "Then I guess the relationship's not going to last very long."

Tony felt a pang in his chest. "Yeah," he said softly. That was the kicker. You needed a thread to keep you going.

"You and Ziva—"

"Stop."

McGee sighed at the verbal roadblock, looked away, and then looked back again. "What did you and Jeanne have to talk about?"

Caught off guard—where the hell had that come from?—Tony's voice jumped an octave or two. "What?"

"What did you have in common? What did you talk about?" At Tony's open-mouthed stare, McGee said, "When your cover was blown and you told her that you were _you_ and not who she thought you were, you still thought about pursuing a relationship with her."

"No, I didn't," Tony answered automatically.

McGee dropped his head to the side. "Come on, Tony. Yes, you did. You had real feelings for her."

Tony chuckled through the full body sting that thoughts of that operation still brought with them. "Thanks very much for bringing up one of the biggest screw ups of my career," he said with faux joviality. "Want me to point to some of your questionable moments?"

McGee literally rolled his eyes in Tony's face. "Can you just drop the Special Agent Douchebag act for five minutes and go back to being that guy who know we're actually friends? Because that guy knows he can trust me and he's not such a pain in the ass."

Tony pursed his lips and held back his retort. Fine. He could talk about Jeanne a little. He was still professionally embarrassed about the way he'd handled the operation (or _not_ handled it), but he was over the relationship side of it. If McGee had a good point to make about it, then Tony wouldn't mind hearing it. "Yes, I had feelings for her," he said. "Strong feelings."

"Right," McGee said, sounding pleased that Tony was playing along. "So, what did you talk about?"

Tony tried to cast his mind back to four years ago. "Her life, mostly. I couldn't tell her anything about me. Nothing real."

"She didn't cotton on?" McGee asked carefully.

Tony's eyebrows quickly rose and then fell again. "Guess not."

"But you enjoyed talking to her?"

He couldn't recall finding it a chore. It was difficult at times when he was trying to keep the operation and his identity a secret, but he'd always enjoyed her company. "Yeah, I did."

"So, what did you have in common?"

It should have been such an easy question, but it wasn't. After a solid half minute of thinking about it, all Tony could really think of was their shared desire to settle down. "I don't know," he finally admitted.

"But you still thought you could make it work."

Tony swallowed a sudden rush of embarrassment over how stupid he'd been to refuse to think about the practicalities of the relationship and what would happen when the truth came out. He let himself hope that things would work out instead of reminding himself that it never would. And he'd paid for the mistake in the end.

"I guess," he muttered to McGee. "For a day. After she'd been introduced to DiNozzo. And then I came to my senses."

"You only came to your senses because you were an agent," McGee said. "If you hadn't been undercover, if you'd just met her in the street, you probably would have been married by now. Even if you didn't have a whole lot in common."

Tony thought that over as he stared out the window at their suspect's apartment block. He was beginning to see McGee's point. If all you needed for a successful relationship was a list of things the two of you had in common, eHarmony and Match and all those other dating websites would have 100 per cent success rates. But they didn't. Because relationships weren't a science. There were no guidelines for best practice. Some people needed common interests with their partners. Some people needed to spend every moment together that they could. Some couldn't stand to live in the same house, even if they loved each other as much as the couple who shared their house with eight kids. Some couples needed spontaneity while others thrived on routine. Some needed more than one partner. And some couples had different interests, different friends and often spoke different languages, but worked because they shared a solid foundation and wanted the same things from the future.

It was all just a goddamn roll of the dice. Right place, right time. Serendipity.

"I think you have enough to talk about," McGee told him, and Tony knew for sure that he was talking about Ziva. "You make your own history, you know?"

Tony swallowed the lump of hope in his throat and made an attempt at steering the conversation away from her again. "McGee, if you don't jump off this train of thought you're on tonight, I'm going to call our suspect myself and tell him you're a cop and you're sitting out here waiting for him."

McGee ignored him. "I'm just saying. I'm right."

"Shut up, McGee," Tony sighed. "You are a friend. A good friend. But just…shut up about it."

"Okay."

Tony sat up straighter in his seat to try to stretch out his back a little, and then rolled his ankles and tried to move his legs. "I swear this job's going to give me deep vein thrombosis."

"Maybe," McGee replied casually, and then took another sip from his water bottle.

"When are you seeing Maxine again?"

McGee glanced at him with suspicion. "Probably tomorrow. Why?"

Tony shrugged. "Just trying to gauge how serious things are."

McGee stared at the dashboard thoughtfully as he ordered his thoughts. "Things are progressing," he replied cryptically.

Tony stared at him, unimpressed by the amount of information that was being provided to him. "You really don't want to talk to me about her, do you?"

"Not yet."

Tony knew what that meant. It meant that McGee thought Maxine was pretty special, and he wanted to keep things close to the protective shield of his chest for a while. Tony smiled to himself. He hoped it worked out for them. McGee deserved a happy home life. And he was probably the most likely of all of them to find one. Tony knew he gave the guy a lot of crap, but he'd always thought that McGee's biggest obstacle to finding someone to have and to hold was that he didn't have a lot of opportunities to meet women. He spent so much time at work, and the only women he came across regularly were Abby and Ziva. McGee'd had his day with Abby, and despite the momentary madness that Abby had planted in him weeks ago, Tony knew McGee only thought of Ziva as a sister. And like he'd just said, he wouldn't make a move on Ziva anyway when…

Tony turned abruptly to look at McGee as a worrying thought occurred to him. McGee glanced over at him, alerted by the sudden movement.

"What?"

"You said Ziva told you that I thought you guys were dating."

McGee nodded as the ghost of a smirk returned to his face. "Yeah."

Tony swallowed hard. That conversation was the trigger for The Conversation Slash Fight Slash Break Up. If she'd told McGee about the stupid dating misunderstanding, had she told him everything else? Christ, had McGee been walking around all this time with all the background to what was going on between him and Ziva? Did he know the details of that intensely private discussion?

"Did she, uh, tell you about the conversation we had?" he asked as casually as he could.

"When?"

"A month or two ago," Tony said. "We had a conversation before work one day."

Either McGee was an amazing poker player (which Tony knew for a fact he was not), or he was being completely honest when he replied, "Not really. She just said she'd encouraged you to see where things with EJ would lead. But given the way things have been between you two, I assume there was much more to it."

"You assume?"

"It's not my business, Tony."

If it were anyone else, Tony might still be suspicious. But over the years he had learned not to waste too much time on doubting McGee's word. He relaxed again. The conversation between him and Ziva remained private, as he hoped it would for all of eternity. God knew he had every intention of taking it to his grave without breathing a word of what was said to anyone. He hoped she felt the same. He supposed he could have just asked her to keep it between them, but that would be difficult to do while they weren't really talking. And he didn't think he was ready to cope with anything else she had to say that she might have forgotten to tell him the first time around. No, reaching out was not an option.

God, that sucked so hard.

"How is she doing?" he asked McGee suddenly. "I wanted to ask her the other day. When we were talking about EJ. But it didn't seem right…"

McGee glanced over at him again. "You mean how is she doing generally?"

No, that wasn't what he'd meant. "Yeah, but also with Ray. You're not letting her beat herself up over that, are you?"

"No. And she's doing okay."

Tony nodded. "Good. Because she does that sometimes. She gets too hard on herself."

"I know," McGee replied. "She's okay."

"Okay." He paused. "It's good you've been with her through this."

"She's my friend," McGee said simply, and although he hadn't meant anything by it, the envy Tony felt in that moment stole his breath.

Ziva had told him that they would never be friends, and he had understood where she was coming from. Hell, he even agreed with her. But just as he had been when she laid it all out for him in the locker room, he was still struggling with what that did make her to him. It seemed that in the last few weeks they'd settled as nothing more than cordial co-workers, but it just felt…wrong. They'd been together for six years. Six years of watching each other's backs. Of protecting each other. Of trusting each other. Of sharing almost their whole lives. She'd been standing next to him during moments that had changed his life. He'd shared things with her that he never would with anyone else. She'd been his _partner_ through all the ups and downs, the professional and the personal. Knowing all that, Tony simply could not accept that now she was just a co-worker.

He knew it was foolish, but he still held hope that now that EJ was gone things could go back to normal between them. He had hope that he could turn up at her house to give her some support, just as McGee had been doing lately and like Tony would have done this time last year. Or that he could just turn up to spend some comfortable time with her. They hadn't watched a movie together in months and months, and he missed it terribly. He missed her pointing out the stupid parts and rolling her eyes at the romance. He missed having her fall asleep halfway through (sometimes against his shoulder—God, he _really_ missed that) and then arguing that she'd been awake the whole time and taking a blind stab at plot points. He missed how comfortable those nights were.

But it wasn't just their out-of-hours relationship that he missed. At work, he missed seeing her smile or laugh at him without thinking about it first. He missed leaning over her shoulder at her desk, so close he could smell her. He missed her and McGee making fun of him, or teaming up with her to make fun of McGee. And damn it, he missed only needing to throw a look or a word or two in her direction to explain whatever was bugging him, and feeling that she understood it.

He sighed heavily and rubbed his hands over his face, trusting that it would look to McGee like he was just trying to keep himself awake, rather than an attempt to ward off an emotional breakdown. The feeling of loss and sadness that he'd been carrying around was getting heavier by the day, and he didn't think he could put up with it for much longer. His nerves couldn't put up with this feeling that she was going to walk out of his life any day now, and shut him out completely. Was it really too much to hope that they would be able to fix things? Was it too much to hope that if he pleaded his case to her, she would hear him out?

That was what the emotional side of him wanted to do. But his intellectual side had to drive a stake through his heart and remind him that nothing had changed. EJ hadn't been the problem. Ray hadn't been either, exactly. The problem—and it had _always_ been their problem—was that they were just too scared to be honest and commit to the decision to try to have a relationship. They were too scared to even explore whether it would work out. By stringing it out for years, he'd thought that they had just been waiting for the right time. But really, they had just been too scared to let go of each other and the idea of what they could have. And now that Ziva _had_ let go? Tony hated it. He hated it more than anything. Hated it more than being stuck in limbo for six years. Now that he'd had a taste of the relationship he'd always told himself he was supposed to have with her—hands off, professional—he didn't like it one bit.

So maybe, just maybe, it was time for him to stop struggling to accept that this awkward, distant relationship between them was just the way it was going to be from now on. Maybe instead it was time to start fighting to change it. Maybe it was time for him to grow up for real and stop making excuses for why he couldn't just be honest with her about how he felt and what he wanted from her.

Maybe it was time to be a man.

* * *

**Inching ever closer…**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Happy holidays/new year to you all! Thank you again for all your support for this story, and my others. I'm grateful that you guys take the time to read whatever craziness falls out of my head, and particularly grateful if you take the time to give feedback. I am so, so bad at replying to people, but know that I appreciate all your comments, story alerts and favorites. You guys are a class act.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

As another week passed, Team Gibbs found themselves in the middle of another case. A young petty officer had been murdered in her apartment off base, and so far the team had not been able to find a motive, let alone identify a suspect. With no promising leads and a rostered weekend off looming ahead of them, Ziva and McGee had volunteered to go back to the crime scene to search it for evidence they might have missed in their preliminary investigation. They were determined to find _something_ that would help them to wrap the case and secure their weekend off.

The two agents pulled up outside the apartment complex shortly before lunchtime. The sun was high in the cloudless blue sky and the air was warm without being uncomfortable. Ziva looked over at McGee from behind her sunglasses and gave him a wistful smile.

"If this weather holds up until the weekend, it will be the best news of the summer."

McGee's lip curled with disappointment. "If that's the best you can say about the summer, I think we can agree that it sucked."

"It has," Ziva confirmed. "Perhaps not as badly as summers of recent years, but that is hardly an endorsement."

"Guess not," he said, brushing his hand against her back briefly. "We need new jobs."

"I often think that, yes." She opened the gate to the apartment complex, and they walked through the small, neat garden to the building entrance. "Will Maxine be home this weekend?"

McGee smiled. "Yeah. Her flight from New York gets in on Friday night. I guess I'll see her on Saturday."

Ziva stopped walking and grabbed his arm to turn him towards her. "You are not planning on picking her up from the airport?"

"Uh…I hadn't…" He paused and frowned as he started to rethink his plans. "I didn't say I would. Do you think I should?"

"How long have you been dating?"

McGee pursed his lips as he thought about that. "I guess about three months or something."

"You have been dating her exclusively," Ziva stated. "Has she been dating _you_ exclusively?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to _keep_ dating her exclusively?"

"Yes."

Ziva lifted her eyebrows, confident her point had been made. "So? What do you think?"

"That I should pick her up from the airport," McGee said slowly.

Ziva smiled and patted his arm. "That is very thoughtful of you, McGee," she said, as if he had the idea on his own. "I am sure Maxine will appreciate it."

They continued on to the apartment, and Ziva pulled out her knife to cut through the police seal on the door. McGee handled the lock, and the two of them walked into the apartment they'd spent hours processing just two days ago. Black fingerprint powder still covered most surfaces and the living room was in slight disarray from their previous search for evidence. Ziva and McGee pulled out their latex gloves and pulled them on.

"Do you think I should bring her flowers?" McGee asked.

"Does she like flowers?"

"I don't know," he said. "Would you like them?"

Ziva shrugged. "Perhaps. I would prefer a new pocket knife."

McGee scoffed. "Yeah, well that's because you're…" He paused as Ziva shot him a warning look. "Special," he finished.

She rolled her eyes at him. The comment was almost Classic DiNozzo. "I will check the bedroom," she said, and left him to search the living room.

As in the other room, all the surfaces in the bedroom were covered with black fingerprint powder. The linens from the bed where the petty officer had been killed had been stripped and sent to Abby for forensic analysis, and a large square of carpet had also been removed and sent to the lab. Ziva looked around the room as she tried to decide where to start. She kept most of her more personal items in her bedside table at her own house, so she decided to start there.

"What are your plans for Saturday?" Ziva called out to McGee as she opened the table's built-in drawer.

"We were going to play laser tag," he called back. "It's kind of old school, but still fun."

"She is better at that game than you, isn't she…McGeeminator?"

There was a pause from the other room, and Ziva smiled to herself as she imagined McGee rolling his eyes at her use of his gamer nickname.

"Yes," he finally said. "And I like that."

Her smile grew. Despite a stumble (not thinking to pick her up from the airport? Really?) Tim McGee was still one of the good ones. A man who appreciated his girlfriend's talents and interests and did not resent her for doing better. Sometimes Ziva wondered if he was the only man on the planet—

"HEY!"

Ziva's head snapped up at the unfamiliar voice from the other room, followed a second later by the sound of a gunshot. Her heart leapt and adrenaline surged as she drew her gun on instinct and then spun and ran to the living room. McGee was lying on his back on the floor, and Ziva glanced at him long enough to see that he was moving before training her weapon on the tall young man with the buzz cut standing over him. Ziva had no idea who he was or where he had come from, but these were questions that could wait to be answered.

"Federal agent!" she yelled, startling the man and drawing his weapon's aim. "Put the gun down. Now!"

Panicked brown eyes met hers as Ziva made the decision to aim for his right shoulder if he made a move. In the corner of her eye she saw McGee raise his weapon, but he didn't get off the floor. Ziva understood that he had most likely been shot, and then pushed the information into the emotional part of her brain that she was not using right now.

"You've got no business being in Anna's place!" the gunman yelled.

Now that he had shot a federal officer, there was slim chance of that happening.

"Put the gun down," Ziva repeated. "Do not make things worse than they already are."

The gunmen looked between her and McGee, assessing his chances. For a moment Ziva thought that he looked like he would accept defeat, but then, in all of one second, he changed his stance, set his eyes on Ziva, and she recognized the determined look in his eye. Before he could pull the trigger she put one round through his shoulder, and the gun fell out of his hand as he cried out, staggered back, and then fell to his knees. Keeping her gun trained on his head, Ziva rushed forward, swept the gun out of his reach and shoved him face-first into the ground. The gunman cried out again in pain as she forced his hands behind his back and slapped her cuffs on him, and she left his wriggling on his stomach as she quickly crossed to McGee. He was already holding his handcuffs out to her, and she met his eyes as she took them from him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

McGee grimaced but nodded. She left him for a moment to attach McGee's cuffs to hers around the gunman's wrists, and then pulled at his good arm to help him roll over.

"Sit up," she ordered him.

"You shot me!" he yelled as he tried to bring his legs around in front of him.

"It was you or me," she muttered.

"I'll sue you, you bitch!"

Ziva yanked harder on his arm, making him cry out again. "Good luck. You just shot a federal agent."

She managed to get him into a sitting position, and then secured the other end of McGee's cuffs to the radiator. Satisfied that the gunman was properly restrained, Ziva crossed back to McGee. He had managed to drag himself backwards so that he could lean his back against the couch, but when Ziva looked at his left leg she understood why he wasn't getting up. There was a hole in his blood-soaked pants towards the middle of his thigh, and the blood was still coming. Fearing that the bullet had hit his artery, Ziva quickly pulled off her belt, looped it above the wound, and tightened it as hard as she could.

"OW!" McGee cried at her.

"Sorry," she replied automatically. "I need to slow the bleeding."

McGee's face screwed up in pain, and he punched the floor beside him. "This doesn't tickle."

Ziva took off her cotton jacket, hurriedly folded it to a smaller square and pressed it into the wound. "Try to stay calm," she told him evenly.

"Hey!" the gunman called out to her. "What about me?"

"Be quiet!" Ziva snapped at him, and then met McGee's already glassy eyes. "Stay calm," she repeated. "Try to slow your heartbeat."

McGee managed an annoyed look in her direction before he closed his eyes and started trying to breathe deeply. Ziva pulled out her cell phone and made a 911 call, requesting a priority ambulance for McGee. By the time she was done, her friend was sweaty and pale, and his breaths were becoming shallower and shakier. Panic gnawed at the edges of Ziva's mind as she contemplated having to add McGee's name to the list of loved ones she'd lost in one way or another this year, but as soon as she felt her heart start to race and her hands start to shake, she pulled forced the thoughts away and beat back the emotion. She had to stay calm.

She pressed her bloodied hands and soaked jacket harder against his thigh, and when McGee barely moaned she licked her dry lips and tried to engage him in conversation that would keep him alert. "How are you doing?"

McGee opened his eyes a crack and took a shaky breath. "Worst summer ever," he murmured, and then passed out.

* * *

Ziva was pacing the hallway outside the emergency room when Tony arrived at the hospital with Gibbs and Abby. Bright red patches of blood stained the cuffs of her shirt, and Tony had an uncomfortable flashback to watching her in the hospital after he'd shot Michael Rivkin. From afar, his normally calm and controlled partner looked stressed out and rattled by the situation. But as soon as she noticed the team walking towards her, she uncrossed her arms, stood to her full height and put on her Special Agent face.

"McGee took one round through his left thigh," she began, almost before the team had stopped walking. "He was awake and talking for several minutes after the shooting, however he passed out soon before the ambulance arrived. He lost quite a lot of blood, so there is a concern that the bullet may have nicked his artery. I applied a tourniquet above the entry wound in an effort to slow the bleeding."

Gibbs nodded calmly. "What happened, Ziva?"

Ziva kept her eyes locked on Gibbs and Tony and Abby stared at her intently. "We had not been in the house long, perhaps three or four minutes. I went to the bedroom and had started going through the petty officer's drawers when I heard a man yell from the living room, and then a gunshot." She paused to swallow and maintain control. "I returned to the living room with my weapon drawn and saw McGee on the floor and a man standing over him with a gun. I identified myself and warned him to drop the gun. He aimed at me, I warned him again, and then he made what I considered to be an aggressive move. I fired one round into his right shoulder, handcuffed him to the radiator and then tended to McGee."

Tony stole a look at Gibbs. Ziva was relating the story as if she was being formally questioned, and he had a feeling that she had been practicing what she was going to say while she waited for them to arrive. He didn't doubt her version of the events. These days Ziva was far less trigger-happy than she had been when she first joined the team, and if she said the shooter made an aggressive move, then Tony believed her. He was pretty sure Gibbs would too.

"Who's the shooter?" he asked her.

Ziva kept her eyes on Gibbs as she replied. "His name is Martin Broadwell. One of the petty officer's neighbors told me that she had seen him hanging around a lot in the last few months. Sitting in his car on the street or around the neighborhood." She glanced Tony's way, but only fleetingly. "He told me that we had no business being in the apartment."

"Stalker?" Tony suggested.

Ziva met his eyes, but dropped her gaze quickly. "Perhaps. He is also in the ER."

"You okay?"

"Yes."

Gibbs nodded again and briefly touched her arm. "Okay. Good job."

"Good job?"

They all turned to look at Abby. He hands were curled into fists by her sides, her shoulders were tensed and her green eyes narrowed. She looked between Ziva and Gibbs, and her bright red lip curled in disbelief. "McGee's been shot because no one was watching his back, and you just say 'good job'?"

"Abby," Gibbs said gently, his tone telling her he understood why she was upset, but warning her against an attack all the same. But Abby wasn't interested in his warning.

"No!" she cried, and then advanced on Ziva. "Where were you? Why weren't you watching his back? That's all you guys ever talk about. Being on each other's sixes. How did this happen?"

Ziva stood her ground, but there was apology in her eyes even as she started to defend herself. "We were searching the house—"

"Why didn't you stick together?" Abby demanded, ignoring her defense and the calming hand Tony put on her arm. "If it was dangerous there you should have had eyes on him."

"Abs," Tony tried to cut in, his tone less forgiving that Gibbs'.

"You're supposed to be this hot shot bodyguard lady!" Abby cried. "Are you only on your game when you're supposed to be watching Tony? How could you screw up like this?" She swung her head to look at Gibbs and pointed accusingly in Ziva's direction. "Why is she in the field if she can't do her job properly?"

"Hey, that's enough!" Gibbs said, pulling her back before she could step any further over the line. "She was doing her job, Abby. McGee will be fine."

"You don't know that!" Abby argued as tears spilled down her cheeks. "If it hit his artery then he could have bled to death before he got here!"

Tony understood her panic. Her soft spot for McGee was huge, and their previous relationship and kindred spirits meant that they had been close from day one. Add to that Abby's intense emotions at the best of times and this whole thing was a recipe for chaos. But they couldn't let her get carried away with her fear. They had to try to keep her grounded.

"Okay, but he didn't," Tony told her calmly, drawing her worried and watery gaze. "They're working on him. Just calm down, okay? Let's all stick together and—" He stopped abruptly when he turned to include Ziva in the speech but found that she'd slipped away like a frickin' ninja without any of them noticing. "Ah, crap," he muttered.

As Abby fell against Gibbs' shoulder and cried, Tony met his gaze over her shoulder. Gibbs lifted his chin just a fraction in the direction Ziva had been, and Tony nodded before turning to go in search of his partner.

* * *

Tony searched the hospital grounds for Ziva for 45 minutes, although it was more for something to do while they waited for news on McGee than because he actually thought he would find her. He figured that she probably wanted to spend some time alone, but he knew that she would be back eventually. When he returned to the emergency room he helped Gibbs convince Abby to go for a walk to the cafeteria. After they left he sat on an empty bank of chairs, tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

For the next half hour he sat in the hallway, listening to the familiar sounds of a chaotic emergency room and taking stock of his life. When would it all end? McGee, Ziva, EJ, Ray. The Port-to-Port killer, Paloma Reynosa, Saleem, Michael Rivkin. Somalia, Israel, Paris. Kate, Jenny. Plagues, shootings, bombings. Every year he kept thinking that things had reached bottom. That they couldn't get worse, and that the only way was up. Every year he hoped it would be the one where everything would just be normal and boring, and that he wouldn't have anything to worry about. One of these days, he was sure he would be right about that. Sometime in the future there would have to be a year—God, maybe even two—where he didn't see the inside of a hospital. He had to keep believing that, or else he'd never be able to get out of bed in the morning.

When he sensed a familiar presence hovering nearby, Tony opened his eyes and turned his head to look down the hallway. Ziva stood about ten feet away with a gym bag in her hand. She had changed her bloodied shirt for a t-shirt, although she still wore the same pair of jeans with a few small dots of blood on the knee. His relief at seeing her there contrasted with the obvious look of discomfort on her face, and for a few moments he held his breath when it looked like she was going to turn around and walk away. Eventually she took a deep breath and walked towards him, and Tony's heartbeat returned to normal as she sat down, leaving a seat free between them. As uncomfortable the company was, Tony was still pleased for it. His thoughts had been sending him to crazy town, and he needed her company to keep him from setting up a home there.

He gestured at the gym bag by her feet. "You went to McGee's?" he guessed.

Ziva nodded, and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. "Yes. I brought some clothes. His iPad. A few other things."

"Good idea."

She shot him a quick, tight smile and crossed her legs and arms. "No news yet?"

"No." He paused. "Gibbs and Abby went for a walk."

Ziva's eyes fell to the dots of blood on her knee. "She is very upset."

"Yes. But she'll calm down."

Ziva lifted her eyes briefly to shoot a cynical look at the wall, before looking down guiltily again. He recalled that she had difficulty looking at him when he arrived at the hospital. At the time he had thought it was because of the strain between them, but now he realized that she felt guilty about the shooting. She probably had been before Abby started yelling at her, and then their friend had put voice to everything that was likely going through her head. That it was her fault, and that she should have been watching McGee's back. Tony knew he'd feel the same in her position, just as he knew that the guilt and blame would be unwarranted. Deep down, she probably knew it. He just had to remind her of the fact.

"Hey," he said. "It's not your fault."

The comment drew Ziva's worried, guilty gaze, and Tony didn't get the feeling that she was taking the sentiment to heart.

He reached down inside him for the firm, wise, trustworthy tone that Gibbs would use in the same situation, and repeated himself. "It's not your fault."

Ziva held his eyes for a few silent moments before looking away again. "It should have been me," she told him, as if it were a matter of fact. "Well, it should not have been either of us, because I should not have been so complacent at a crime scene when our killer was still at large. But if it had to be anyone, it should have been me. Abby is right. I am supposed to be trained killer, the Mossad operative who looks out for you all. But I did not."

Tony watched her in disbelief as his anger flared. He didn't know who this person sitting beside him was, but she wasn't the calm, rational woman who he knew. He wanted to yell at her and shake some sense into her, and she was behaving so out of character that he thought he might get away with it without getting a punch to the throat. But that wouldn't make either of them feel better. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and then laid it out for her.

"Well. That's crap," he told her frankly. He leaned towards her as her head turned sharply at his tone. "Tim McGee is a goddamn federal agent. He's not a kid. He's a highly trained, well prepared professional who is brave enough to go out every day and do his job. And God knows he's smart enough to understand and accept the dangers. Just like you. Just like me." He paused as he watched that sink in. "You were both doing your jobs, Ziva. There was no reason for you both to be watching each other while you searched a cold crime scene. It's not your fault."

She watched him quietly as she considered his reasoning, and then gave him the barest of appreciative smiles. She relaxed her posture just a bit and uncrossed her arms. Tony considered it a win.

"Any words of advice for dealing with Abby?" she asked.

"Don't take what she said to heart," he replied, and leaned back in his seat again. "Soon she'll get a case of the guilts over what she said, and then she'll probably turn up at your door with a dozen cupcakes." He paused. "If she does, I'd like one. Especially if they're red velvet."

Ziva looked him in the eye and held his gaze for longer than she had all day. "I know she is upset that me and McGee have been spending more time together. And mad at me because you have not been joining us after work for drinks. I do not think she will forgive me so quickly."

"That's been my choice," he countered.

"I forced you to make it," Ziva argued back.

Tony sighed heavily and rubbed his face, and didn't quite succeed (or even try) in keeping the frustration out of his voice. "For the record, I'm getting really tired of your self-flagellation, Ziva."

"Well, I will make a note of that," she muttered sarcastically.

He tipped his head back against the wall again and stared at the ceiling. Perhaps his idea of needing her company to keep him from going crazy tonight wasn't such a good one. Trading barbs with her wasn't going to make him feel any better. It was just going to lump another load of worry and sadness on his shoulders when he was already worried about how badly McGee was hurt and whether he'd be walking again soon.

God, he _hated_ this.

"Are you all right?"

The softness of her tone made him turn his head to look at her, but he didn't know exactly what she was asking about. "What?"

Ziva cocked her head to the side and gave him an empathetic look that instantly made him feel just a little bit better, despite the frustration she had just caused him. It seemed she was calling a truce. Was there anyone else on earth who would ever make his head spin and his emotions surge as much as her? He doubted it.

"Your friend is in the hospital, you just broke up with EJ, I am being a pain in your butt." She held up a hand in defeat. "I mean that in a non-self-flagellating way, of course." She gave him a self-aware smile.

Tony listened to her summary of his life as of today, and he had to admit it sounded pretty crappy. It felt it, too. And the worst part was that he thought she'd only scratched the surface. He felt bone tired from all the drama and from going through the emotional ringer, and certainly too tired to keep up his regular DiNozzo 'Everything's fine' performance. But he wasn't ready to jump off a bridge just yet. "I'm keeping it together," he replied, and then shot her a quick smile of thanks.

Ziva's smile pulled back a little more. "Do you want to get drunk with me tonight?"

Her call back to their conversation in the men's room after EJ broke up with him drew a big, genuine smile out of him, and he had to laugh at how good that sounded to him. To just forget all the stress and get drunk and have one normal night the way it used to be. "So bad," he admitted.

She smiled with understanding, but it was bittersweet. There was no way that would happen. Their relationship had changed too much in the last few months. He looked away before his sorrow over that showed on his face.

Ziva sighed heavily, and then shifted in her chair towards him. Tony could feel her hesitation, and a quick glance at her fidgeting hands told him that whatever she had on her mind was making her nervous. And right now, that made _him_ nervous.

"McGee and I were talking," she said, lowering her voice to that intimate level that he hadn't heard from her in weeks, and which always made his heartbeat speed up just a little. "He suggested that the next phase of my life should be about having no regrets. I thought it was a ridiculous thing for someone with a past like mine to try to commit to, but I told him how grateful I was for him and how much I loved him."

Tony smiled, and thought of the moment during their recent stakeout when he'd felt the need to tell McGee he was a good friend. Given today's events, and how differently things could have gone, he found himself pleased that he'd told him that. He bet Ziva was feeling the same way.

"Good," he said with a nod.

Ziva chewed the inside of her lip, and her eyes filled as she looked at him with raw longing that stole his breath. "I am grateful for you, Tony," she said thickly. "You would be forgiven for not believing me lately, but I am. Very much."

Tony's throat closed painfully and tears stung the back of his eyes at the olive branch she had offered. Just as when she accosted him in the bathroom after EJ announced she was leaving, and when she let him in her bedroom after Ray died, it gave him hope that he hadn't lost her completely. That their relationship wasn't beyond saving. It gave him hope that if he fought to salvage what they had and argued against her determination of how their relationship should be, he might just win her over. So, bravely or foolishly, he began to fight.

"I'm grateful for you, too," he told her. "And it doesn't matter how broken we get at times, we're never going to be past fixing. Okay? We've got to keep working at this."

She hesitated a little too long for his liking before nodding. "Okay."

It was the most hope he'd felt in months.

Movement behind Ziva caught his attention, and Tony looked up the hall to watch Gibbs and Abby coming back down towards them. Abby looked sad but in control, and both her hands were clasped around a Caf-Pow. Gibbs' arm was around her, hugging her against him, but he wore the same stoic expression he always did. Although she wasn't looking at them, Ziva's ninja skills picked up on their presence (or perhaps she just read Tony's face) and she tensed.

"It's okay," Tony tried to reassure her.

She looked up as Gibbs reached them and gave him a look of apology that suggested she expected to be chewed out. But Gibbs just cupped the back of her head gently, gave her a wink and comforting smile. There would be no condemnation from him.

"Move over," he told her.

Ziva slid along the seats until she was sitting beside Tony and pressed against him from shoulder to knee. Gibbs sat beside her, and Abby took the seat on the end.

"Nothing yet, boss," Tony said. "Shouldn't be long now."

"Do you think he's in pain?" Abby asked.

"No," Gibbs told her. "He can't feel anything right now."

"Do you think the guy who shot him is in pain?"

"Definitely," Gibbs replied with a gentle smile.

"Did someone call Maxine?"

Tony mentally kicked himself for not thinking of that, and looked at Ziva. She nodded to him and then glanced in Abby's direction.

"Yes," Ziva said. "She will fly back from New York tomorrow."

Abby didn't respond, so Tony touched Ziva's knee fleetingly in thanks. Even the brief touch was enough to make her tense up, and the movement was enough to draw Gibbs' gaze. He looked at Tony in question around the back of Ziva's head, but Tony didn't have a clue how to begin explaining it to the boss. Particularly not with just a look. He shook his head and turned away from him, and once again returned his gaze to the ceiling. He had to think of a way to fix this, and soon. Today—hell, the last two months—had been a reminder that they never knew what was around the corner and that their lives could change or end in a second. Ziva had said that she had so many regrets, and he could see them weighing her down. He could relate. Jesus Christ, how he could relate. Regrets for a life lived left of centre, focusing on his job to the detriment of his relationships had crept up on him over the years and he'd barely noticed. But those regrets now clung to his back every damn day, and carrying them around tired him down to the bone. The relationship he had lost with Ziva was currently Regret Number One, and after today he was even more determined to sort the mess out.

* * *

**Have a happy and safe new year! Remember to take a coat if you're going out (maybe some flats if you're going to dance—the heels will be killing you after a while), look out for your friends and, most importantly, never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

_Dear Diet Coke. You have always been there for me when I have needed you. I love you. Never leave me._

Ziva fed coins into the vending machine in the NCIS break room and made her selection. The machine whirred and pushed another can of Diet Coke off the ledge, and it hit the bottom of the machine with a _thunk_. Tiredly, Ziva bent to retrieve the can. She usually tried to stay away from the delicious sugary elixir of the Gods because she knew that she could form an addiction to it all too easily. But today was the kind of day that needed some sugar added to it.

McGee had come out of his surgery the previous afternoon as well as could be expected. The bullet that hit him had missed his major leg artery and his femur, and there had not been significant damage to his tendons. His doctor expected him to make a good recovery after a few weeks of rest and some rehabilitation. The news had brought them all enormous relief, and seeing him awake (albeit groggy) after his surgery and trying to assure them that he felt 'completely fine' went someway towards assuaging Ziva's guilt. His shooter, too, would make a recovery. For now he was handcuffed to his hospital bed and guarded by police until his doctor declared him fit to be interviewed. Gibbs couldn't wait.

After leaving the hospital around dinnertime Ziva had returned to NCIS with Gibbs, Tony and Abby. She had spent several hours writing her report of the shooting and justifying her actions, and although she knew that she was justified in firing her weapon she was aware that her name had linked to too many investigations in the last few years. She knew her team did not doubt her actions, but she doubted she had a very good reputation amongst other NCIS or FBI agents. That wasn't to say she would do things differently, but it was career limiting nonetheless. Even if she weren't interested in advancing through the ranks her growing reputation as a troublemaker and wildcard would make it difficult to change teams. Not that Gibbs would let that happen. He had made that very clear. Although perhaps he would be more open to the idea after she had left McGee open for attack. And after Abby argued for her transfer to Antarctica.

She leaned back against the vending machine, opened her Diet Coke and took a sip of liquid energy. Every day that she thought she couldn't get any more worn down by her life, or make any worse mistakes, she proved herself wrong. Her father would be _so_ proud, to say nothing of what Gibbs must think of her performance lately. She was losing control, and it was beginning to show.

"Ziva?"

Ziva startled at Abby's voice and her eyes snapped up from the floor. Despite being in two-inch thick platforms and with chains hanging off her dog collar Abby had somehow managed to creep up on her. Not only was Ziva losing control, but she was also losing her edge.

She stood up straight and squared her shoulders, and prepared for more anger to be leveled at her. "Yes, Abby."

Abby chewed her lip beneath wide eyes and stepped timidly around the table towards her. "I just wanted to say that I'm so sorry about what I said yesterday." She pressed her hands together over her chest. "I was just freaked out and panicking and it all came out of nowhere, you know? And you were there and I just fired at you, but I shouldn't have and I'm so sorry, Ziva."

Ziva blinked slowly at her as she tried to absorb the extreme turnaround from 24 hours ago. Her actions yesterday had been playing on her mind from the moment she heard the gunshot. She knew immediately upon seeing McGee bleeding that she should have paid more attention to the people on the street outside the apartment and identified anyone who looked suspicious. She should have scanned the apartment complex for a little longer as they approached to look for signs of trouble. She should have stayed with her partner as they searched the apartment, particularly when they knew that the killer was still on the loose. She should have prevented the shooting. Abby's words at the hospital may have been harsh and delivered in anger and panic, but that didn't make them wrong. Ziva was the team's bodyguard and she had failed in her duty. Yes, McGee was a trained federal agent and he knew how to look after himself. But when that failed it was her job to be there to cover him. She wasn't supposed to fail. So although Abby may have regretted some of the charges she had laid against her, Ziva knew she was still guilty.

She shook her head at Abby and squared her shoulders as she accepted blame. "No, you do not need to apologize," she said. "You were right. I should have kept eyes on him."

Abby's eyes widened until her face took on the expression of a guilty child. She shook her head vigorously sending ink black pigtails flying, and took two steps over to her. "No, Ziva, I was _wrong_," she insisted, and reached out to hold on to Ziva's forearm. "I was just so worried and I'm so sick of you guys getting hurt but it's not your fault. I had to vent and you were there so you got it. But you didn't deserve it."

Ziva dropped her gaze in favor of the safety of the wall. She knew this conversation was supposed to make her feel better, but it was making her feel worse. "I was there and I could have prevented it, but I did not."

"But you would have," Abby said, as if those were the magic words to make everything okay. "If you'd been in the room you would've had that guy on the ground and in cuffs before he even saw you."

Ziva's eyes snapped back to hers as she felt the need to point out the obvious. "But I was not in the room."

Abby looked at her with something verging on sympathy. "You were distracted with something else," she said with a shrug. "You've got a hundred things going on when you're in the field. And lately you've had all this other stuff…" She stopped abruptly as Ziva stiffened at the words that cut instead of calmed. "I mean…"

Ziva shook her head and gave Abby a tight smile. "Yes, that is true. I have been distracted, and to the detriment of my performance in the team."

"No, Ziva—"

"I have been letting you all down by allowing my emotions to get in the way," she continued, keeping her tone even so as not to invite more undeserved sympathy. "McGee paid the price for that. I owe you all an apology and a promise that I will regain my focus."

Abby stared at her in silence for a full five seconds before the barest of frowns creased her forehead. "You don't owe anyone an apology, Ziva."

Ziva let out a soft, bitter chuckle. McGee had gotten shot because she wasn't watching his back. Gibbs was down a team member. Tony was uncomfortable with her. Abby missed Tony spending time with them. And that was all just from the last few weeks. She did not see the point in arguing further with Abby, though.

She put her hand on Abby's shoulder and gave her a polite smile. "Thank you, Abby, for your kindness."

Abby gave her a skeptical look. "Are we okay?"

"Of course," Ziva nodded. "I should get back to work."

Her friend pulled her pout into a weak smile and gave her a wave as Ziva headed for the door. As she walked the hallways back to the bullpen, Ziva wondered if she had just hit on the key to solving all the problems she had been creating lately. She had been letting her emotions get in the way, so perhaps now was the time to ignore them completely. Before arriving at NCIS she had been adept at the skill. As a child she had been trained to give nothing of herself away while drawing everything out of others. While working for the Mossad the practice made her an effective officer and contributed to the success of her missions. She may have slept with her fellow officers, but she did not talk to them about her interests or feelings, or invite them to find out who she really was. She had intended to continue that when she arrived in Washington, and for a while she thought she had successfully remained emotionally distant while inserting herself into her teammates' lives. Life had seemed so much easier back then. Surely returning to the woman she had been, the soldier without distraction, would turn things around again. She had to focus on her job and dedicate herself to it completely without getting tangled in personal relationships. She had to protect her team and do her job.

She had to become what Tony called 'the old Ziva'.

* * *

"You coming to the hospital?"

Ziva looked up from her computer screen at Tony hovering in front of her desk. She had been so absorbed in her work that she hadn't noticed him getting ready to leave for the evening. In fact, she hadn't noticed that it was time to go home. The afternoon had slipped away without her paying it any attention, and there was a part of her that was proud that she had managed to be so focused.

She gave Tony a polite but dismissive smile. "No. I spoke to McGee this morning."

Tony hitched his backpack further up his shoulder as he looked down at her curiously. "Okay," he said. "Is everything all right?"

"What?"

"You've been focused like a laser pointer today."

She frowned briefly but shook her head before she invited further discussion. "I have had work to do."

Tony continued to stare at her for a few moments, and she stared back at him with the blankest expression she could muster. Tony breathed out heavily and gave up. He looked over at Gibbs.

"You coming, boss?"

Gibbs didn't look up from his paperwork. "I'll be by later."

"Okay, then," Tony said, his tone tinged with defeat. "See you all in the morning."

Ziva returned her gaze to her computer screen, but watched Tony leave out of the corner of her eye. Her fingers were still on her keyboard as she listened to him get into the elevator, and once the door closed as she was sure he was gone she refocused on the words on her computer screen and tried to recapture the train of thought she had when Tony interrupted her.

Half an hour later she was almost finished the report she was writing when Gibbs broke the comfortable silence between them. When he pushed back his chair and stood, Ziva assumed that he was leaving for the night as well. But instead of heading to the elevator he walked around his desk, came in behind hers and sat on the low bookcase behind her left elbow. Ziva looked up at him, her eyebrow lifted in surprise. Kind blue eyes gazed down at her, and though he hadn't said a word yet it was all he needed to do to bring Ziva to the brink of tears.

"You talked to Abby?" he asked.

Ziva nodded and swallowed down the lump in her throat. "Yes. She apologized for what she said at the hospital, but it was not necessary."

Although they were the only people in the bullpen, Gibbs leaned closer and lowered his voice. "I can't have you blaming yourself for what happened, Ziva."

She lifted her chin to take the blame straight on. "I have been letting my emotions get in the way of doing my job. They are making me soft and too complacent."

Gibbs looked vaguely amused. "You gotta stop thinkin' that, too."

Ziva stabbed at a few keys on her keyboard as she let one emotion—frustration—build in her. "I was a far more effective agent when I was solely focused on my job, and not the lives of the people around me."

"You weren't more effective back then," Gibbs stated. "And emotion makes agents better at what they do. Look at DiNozzo."

Ziva shot a deep frown at him that make him chuckle.

"He's the most emotional agent in this team, and he uses it to his advantage," Gibbs said. "You gotta work out how to do what he does."

Ziva stared at him with disbelief. "You want me to be more like _Tony?_" Her partner may have used him emotions effectively in the field, but he also used them to annoy the crap out of Gibbs at almost any time of day.

"Not exactly," Gibbs allowed. "But you're a better agent since you opened up. So keep going."

Ziva felt tears burn the back of her eyes again, but there was no way she would let them fall. "What if I am not prepared to do that?" she asked. Her voice wavered and she hated it, but she pushed on. "Since I started opening myself up all I have gotten is pain. All I have done is hurt people in return. I do not see the point in continuing to do this." It was more than she had intended to say, and she bit her lip to stop herself from saying more.

"It hasn't all been pain," Gibbs told her gently. "You've been loved as well."

Ziva snorted and looked away. "Yes, I was loved by a man who kept secrets from me and expected me to accept it."

Gibbs sighed. "Yeah," he grunted, and leaned closer again. "But I love you too. So does McGee. Ducky, Abby." He paused and then softly added, "DiNozzo loves you."

She swallowed hard as Gibbs rattled off a list of everyone she had spent the last few months letting down. That they loved her and thought of her as family made her mistakes even worse. "Perhaps you should not," she told him.

He sighed again, but this one told her that he was out of patience. "Because I love you, I'm going to tell you to stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"That is exactly what I am trying to do," she insisted.

Gibbs eyed her with the same kind of curiosity that Tony had turned on her before he left. When Tony did it, it irritated her. When Gibbs did it, it made her squirm. After a few long moments he lifted his eyes to scan the bullpen, and she felt like he was trying to give her some space. But his next question went straight to her jugular.

"You want to tell me what happened with DiNozzo?"

Ziva's cheeks flushed with embarrassment before her anger flared. "_Nothing_," she told him firmly. "Nothing has ever happened between us."

Gibbs nodded easily, and it occurred to her that he wasn't accusing her of having a relationship with Tony as she had thought. "You're not yourselves," he said.

"We are professional," she argued.

Gibbs smirked. "That's my point. Why have you suddenly decided to be professional with each other?"

"It is important for us," she said. "And for this team. I thought you would be pleased."

Gibbs lifted an eyebrow and nodded his head as he considered that. "I might be the only one."

She thought he was probably right. But she had to trust that with time, she and Tony would adjust to the way things were now. Eventually they would be comfortable with the new normal.

Gibbs reached over and brushed his index finger under her chin. "Hey," he said, tilting her face up. "One way or another, I need you to get your head back in the game. Got it?"

These were orders that Ziva knew how to take, and she nodded her head firmly like the good little soldier she was determined to become again. "Yes, Gibbs. I will."

He nodded and slid off her desk, and then stooped to put his mouth at her ear. "My door's always unlocked, Ziva," he told her, and then pressed a fleeting kiss to her temple before turning and walking away.

As she watched him go, Ziva considered the offer of a shoulder to cry on or an ear to scream in that hung in the air. It was tempting to go to her father figure and hug him until the smell of coffee and sawdust reassured her and his silence calmed her thoughts. But she had never been a daughter who buried her fears in her father's arms, and she was not going to start doing it now that she knew she had to step as far away from them as possible. Let Gibbs rock Abby as she cried. Let him be Tony's sounding board and even keel. Let him turn looks of approval and encouragement on McGee. But Ziva would not seek anything more from him.

* * *

Tony watched with no small amount of jealousy as Maxine leaned over the side of McGee's hospital bed and kissed her boyfriend's forehead. He couldn't remember the last time he had a beautiful woman show him affection while he recovered from an injury, and that wasn't because he had stopped injuring himself. Okay, so Abby was always there with a smile and a kiss and a hug. That was nothing to sneeze at. But Abby didn't love him like he wanted to be loved. And the last time Ziva stood over him when he'd been in McGee's position she had given him a critical look and seemed disappointed that he had not bled more. He was fairly certain that was her cover for being relieved that he was okay, but still. Just once before he died he wanted her—and it had to be _her_—to lean over his hospital bed and kiss his head. He thought they'd had a nice moment last night when they said they were grateful for each other, but by lunchtime today she had been closed off and silent. If the trend continued he doubted she'd turn up by his hospital bedside at all, let alone kiss him.

He winced at the sharp feeling in his chest and rubbed his hand over his heart. He suddenly felt the need for some gin.

"Well, you seem to be in capable hands, probie," he said, drawing McGee and Maxine's eyes. "I should go and let her capably handle you some more."

McGee looked fleetingly embarrassed. "Uh, yeah. Thanks for checking in."

"Are they going to send you home in the morning?"

McGee nodded. "Yeah, most likely. And I'll be back at work the day after."

"Tim," Maxine said with alarm. "You gotta be kidding."

McGee looked at her wide-eyed as he tried to navigate her thought process. "I don't mean I'll be in the field, but I'll be fine to sit at a desk."

Maxine looked to Tony for help. "Can you tell him that he can at least have the rest of the week off?"

Tony froze like a deer in the headlights. Getting into the middle of a couple's argument was a bad idea. If he agreed with Maxine, he'd be betraying McGee. If he agreed with McGee, Maxine would hate him until the end of time. "Uh…I don't really have the authority to grant or revoke leave. That's…that's a Gibbs question. You should ask Gibbs."

"I will."

Tony met McGee's eyes. He wasn't sure, but the probie looked a little paler than he had a minute ago.

Tony clapped his hands together and shot them a big smile. "Well, this was fun. Glad to see you're on the mend, McGee. Pleasure to see you again, Maxine. And I am out of here."

He left the room with a wave and walked down the hall in the direction of the elevators. He glanced in other rooms as he passed them, finding each with wives and husbands and parents and kids, and found himself rolling his eyes. The universe really seemed keen to show him what he didn't have tonight. On the other hand, he wasn't a patient. He supposed that was the silver lining.

The elevator doors opened while he was still a couple of feet away, and he started to jog to catch it. But when Gibbs stepped out he slowed his step and then waited for the boss to join him.

"Hey, boss," he said. "He's doing good. Maxine's in there with him."

Gibbs lifted his head in acknowledgement.

"He said they'll probably release him in the morning," Tony went on, falling into his habit of debriefing Gibbs on any situation. "He reckons he'll be back at work day after next but he's going to need rehab for sure."

"Yeah."

Tony cocked his head to the side and continued talking to keep his mind off the depressed place it wanted to be. "Has Vance said anything to you about a replacement yet? Because I don't want to deal with an honest-to-God probie, and I know how you feel about interlopers. I guess Ziva can go either way. She's either _grr, I'll kill you_," he made tiger claws, "or she's way too polite. Which I think is actually a front for wanting to kill them, but you can never quite tell with her. Sometimes it's not. I swear there's no rhyme or reason to how she reacts to people."

He paused to take a breath, and when he stayed quiet for more than two seconds Gibbs spoke up. "You need to talk to Ziva."

Tony shook his head. "Yeah, I'm probably not that well placed to do that right now, but maybe McGee can use the pity of being in a hospital bed to tell her to play nice with others."

He watched Gibbs' eyes go heavenward before he repeated himself. "You need to talk to Ziva."

Tony hesitated. "Uh, boss, you've probably noticed—"

"Damn it, _everyone's _noticed," Gibbs cut in, and although he didn't slap the back of his head, Tony felt the wake up call all the same. "You need to talk to her."

It was clear to him now that Gibbs wasn't talking about how Ziva might react to a temporary replacement on the team, but rather about the obvious downward spiral of Tony's relationship with her. He felt his shoulders slump under the weight of the task ahead of him, and although he _wanted_ to talk to her, he didn't have a clue what to say.

"And what?" he asked Gibbs flatly. "Fix it? I'd love to hear your suggestions about how to do that, boss."

Gibbs threw his hands up at his sides. "I don't know what's broken, DiNozzo. I don't have a clue how to fix it. But you'd better. And you better do it soon before she leaves."

"Leaves?" he repeated as panic started rising from his stomach and sucking the feeling from his arms. "Leaves for where?"

"Hell, I don't know!" Gibbs cried, beyond frustrated with the conversation. "FBI? Coast Guard?"

"She wouldn't leave the team," Tony said firmly, as if saying it with conviction would make it true.

But Gibbs had to take that hope down. "She already asked," he stated.

Tony stared at him as crushing regret fell over him. The woman he wanted to be with wanted to be away from him so badly that she had asked for a transfer. She might have been grateful for him and loved him, but she didn't want to hang around to fix what was wrong with them. She wanted to do her typical Ziva thing and just walk away from trouble instead of dealing with it.

She was going to walk away from him.

"Oh," he managed.

"I told her no," Gibbs said, giving Tony a spark of hope as easily as he'd just taken it away. "But you need to talk to her. I don't care what you say, but it better be the truth and it better work."

Tony couldn't help his bitter chuckle. "The truth? I don't think that's going to get us anywhere. And even if it did, I don't think you'd approve of the destination."

_Rule number 12: Never date a co-worker._ Tony didn't need to say it; they were both thinking it. He'd challenged Gibbs on it a couple of months ago when he decided that he was going to pursue a relationship with EJ. Even though she hadn't really been part of their team, Gibbs still had issues with it. God only knew how he'd react if Tony and Ziva started something. Officially there wasn't a whole lot he _could_ do, but that didn't mean that things wouldn't get uncomfortable and difficult.

But Gibbs surprised him. "Haven't I taught you anything?" he asked, exasperated. "It don't matter what I'd approve of. I'm already proud of you, Anthony. Making a decision I don't agree with isn't going to change that."

Tony stared at him with surprise, but felt the tug of a proud smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Be your own man," Gibbs went on. "Stop looking to me to tell you that you're doing things right. Only you know if you are. Listen to your damn gut." He punctuated the pep talk with a harsh slap to the back of Tony's head, and then strode off down the hallway before Tony could say a word in response.

For a few moments Tony stood there, dazed and confused. It sounded like Gibbs had just acknowledged that Tony and Ziva might break the rules. Provided, of course, that Tony could sit her down and say the magic words that would not only fix the rift between them but convince her that she should take back her decision to stay away from him and instead get much, much closer. He honestly didn't have a clue how he was going to do that, but…God, the feeling of hope within him that had sparked last night was sparking again and he couldn't let himself let it go. He had to make a play for her. If she rejected him it was hardly going to make their relationship any worse. But if she didn't? If he pulled off the unthinkable and convinced her that they had to take a chance on each other? Well, then he would get everything he had realized that he wanted.

It was time to roll the dice.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Geez, Tony really needs to man up already, doesn't he?  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

* * *

It took Tony a week to finally take the white-knuckled leap into action. A week in which he'd watched Ziva carefully for signs that she might either be more receptive to his argument for taking a stab at happily ever after, or otherwise look like she might shoot him for even raising the issue. He had lost count of how many times he had talked himself into and out of putting everything on the line for her until finally he woke up on Saturday morning feeling brave enough to make an attempt. Or perhaps that should be stupid enough.

As he got ready for the day with the knowledge that one way or another, this would be the day to change his life, his heart pounded hard and fast. His arms and hands started feeling weak from nerves though the morning, and by lunchtime his stomach was knotted so tightly that he couldn't make himself eat. On the way to her apartment in the afternoon he drove much slower than usual and took the scenic route, and when he got out of the car on her street his legs felt like lead. By the time he stood in front of her door he thought he might throw up, so he ended up standing in the hall for a minute as he tried to get a grip.

He kept telling himself that he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. That he would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't argue his side. That refusing to talk to each other about what they wanted was what had them in this crappy situation, and that remaining silent would only make things worse. He _had_ to do this. He _could_ do this. And he _would_ do it. Now.

Tony whispered a silent prayer under his breath and then reached out to knock on her door. There was no turning back. He heard her soft footfalls on the other side of the door, and before he could change his mind again and sprint down the hallway and out of her building the door opened and Ziva looked at him with surprise.

He forced a smile. "Hey."

"Hello."

They stared at each other awkwardly. Tony swallowed and reminded himself that he actually needed to do some _talking_ here. They were good at reading each other's minds, but not _that_ good.

"Um, are you busy?" he asked. "In the middle of anything?"

Ziva's eyes drifted to her left, as if trying to remind herself what she had been doing before he arrived. "No," she said slowly, and then shook her head as her brain kicked into gear. Was his presence really that unexpected that she was struck dumb? "Uh, no. Come in."

She opened the door wider for him and Tony stepped into her apartment. He hadn't been there since the night they'd found out Ray had died, and the place had been filled with sadness. Despite the sun streaming in through the windows, fresh flowers on the table and soft classical music playing, today the apartment still felt sad. He didn't think he'd ever felt less comfortable in her space before.

They shared another awkward silence, and Tony broke her gaze to glance around them for some kind of lifeline that might relax them both. His eyes fell on a gleaming coffee machine on the kitchen counter that hadn't been there a few weeks ago.

"Hey, you got a new coffee machine."

"Yes."

His smile turned a little more natural. "The coffee's much better, isn't it?"

Ziva crossed her arms tightly over her stomach. "It is fine. Would you like a cup?"

"No," he said quickly. "I'm jittery enough."

Ziva eyed him warily. "Why?"

Tony swallowed and then tapped into the more confident personality he put on every day to cover up his insecurities. "I wanted to talk to you. About us."

Ziva's lips parted a few millimeters, and the wary look in her eyes deepened. It wasn't the encouragement Tony had wanted but it was certainly what he expected. He pressed on through her silence.

"Since we had that conversation—you know, _that _one?" He paused briefly for her confirmation. "Things with us have been strained. And I don't like it."

Ziva blew out a slow, controlled breath. "Tony," she said thickly. "Things will get better. In time."

Tony shook his head. "I don't agree with you."

"We must be patient—"

"No," he said, and took a step towards her. "I mean I don't agree with you walking away."

He could see Ziva's pulse jumping in her neck when she said, "What?"

"You walked away because you were tired of pretending," he reminded her. "But I don't agree that it's what you should have done."

It seemed to dawn on her where he was directing the conversation, and she started shaking her head. "Tony, don't do it," she said softly.

Tony forged on, refusing to be disheartened. Yet. "I'm doing it," he told her.

Ziva took a step back. "Don't."

"I am."

"_Please_."

He let go of an irritated sigh. God, she was so stubborn. This was just like her. "Just stop fighting and listen to me."

Ziva stepped towards the door. "Tony, you should go."

He didn't follow her. Instead, he stepped further into her apartment to make it clear that he wasn't going anywhere. "I won't," he replied, every bit as stubborn as her. "You got to say your piece, so now I'm saying mine. I want to have it out again."

Ziva's shoulders fell and she rubbed at her forehead. "Because it was so much fun the first time," she muttered.

Tony took her sarcasm in stride. "Well, I'm a lot more fun than you. So strap in, Ziva."

The phrase brought Ziva's _404: file not found_ expression to her face. "What?"

"Just listen!" he cried, throwing his hands in the air. "God!"

Ziva put her hands up in defense and surrender. "There is no need to get snippy."

"Well stop being stubborn and hear me out," he countered.

Ziva closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tony took one with her, and once they had both calmed down a little, she nodded at him to say what he had to say.

"You told me, when we had that conversation, that you wanted me to be happy, and you wanted me to be loved," he said, trying hard to keep his voice even.

Ziva's face took on the same sad expression she had been looking at him with for the last few weeks. The one he hated so much. But there was honesty in her eyes. "Yes. Of course I do."

"So when was it that you decided that _you_ weren't going to be that person to love me and make me happy?" he asked, his frankness shocking both of them. But he didn't back down. He went further. "Because I was sure we were getting there last year, Ziva. I was _sure_ of it. And then suddenly Ray was there. Out of nowhere. You were seeing another man and things changed between us, and I had no idea what was going on."

His hurt over her actions was clear, and Ziva's expression turned apologetic.

"This whole year, I've been confused by you," he told her, although without accusation. "More than normal. You wouldn't tell me where I stood or what you were doing with Ray. You wanted me to ask, knowing full well that I couldn't. Because you were right, nothing has ever been acknowledged between us. Not until last month, when you gave up and let go, and tried to make out like you were doing me a favor."

For a few moments, it looked to him like Ziva would engage in the conversation and start explaining her affair with Ray. But then she shook her head firmly and crossed her arms again. "I do not want to talk about this, Tony. It is what it is. We must both accept it."

But her dismissal wasn't acceptable to him. He advanced on her again. "No, we're talking," he said firmly. "You're always the stubborn one, but I'm even more stubborn today. Too stubborn to let go. So we're going to talk about this. We're going to resolve it. I need to understand what happened, Ziva, because it's driving me crazy."

"I told you what happened," Ziva said, her voice rising. "I could not keep doing it. I was too exhausted to keep telling myself to wait because it would happen one day. And we were both miserable."

"So you thought you'd tell me all this by dating another guy and ignoring the steps we'd made?"

Ziva's head whipped up and she looked at him with what appeared to be offense. "It was never my intention to hurt you or confuse you, Tony," she argued. "And maybe I should have discussed it with you. I considered it. But I was sure I would humiliate myself in the process."

"Why?"

"Because we've _never talked about this!_" she replied with tears forming in her eyes. "I have never been sure what, if anything, you feel for me! I did not know that you thought we were making some kind of progress in our relationship."

"Well, I did."

"And now I know that."

"Did _you_ think we were getting somewhere?"

Ziva pursed her lips, as if trying to stop herself from answering. But she couldn't. "Yes," she admitted.

He was stung by that. She had given up despite feeling that they were getting closer to each other. But what stung more than that was that she had given up and moved on to someone else. He considered how much pride he would lose by asking what he wanted to ask, but decided they were both well past caring now.

He cleared his throat. "So, why then did you start a relationship with Ray?"

Ziva slowly paced over to her couch and took a seat on the arm. Her arms fell away from her chest and she gripped the pristine white fabric by her hips. And somehow he knew that she was going to give him the truth.

"I was mad at you for missing my citizenship ceremony," she told him softly, and the way she quickly dropped his gaze and found it again made him think she felt the charge wasn't warranted. Tony did, though. He still felt awful for breaking his promise, even though there was nothing he could have done to change it.

Ziva echoed the sentiment. "I know it was not your fault," she assured him. "But I was still mad. And I could not take it out on you because you were just following orders." She paused to let out a self-aware snort. "I, more than anyone, know all about orders."

Tony gave her half a smile as he remembered meeting her again after months at sea. She'd talked about following orders then—doing what you were told to even if you didn't like it. In a way, that summed up why they'd never had a relationship.

"I was not looking for it," Ziva went on. "But when I met Ray in Miami, he was easy to talk to. He did not know the old Ziva, and so he did not know that he should be disappointed in who I am now."

Tony didn't understand. "Disappointed?"

Ziva rolled her eyes at herself before her eyes settled on the floor. "I used to be so much more effective. I thought that if I learned how to open myself up to people then it could help me improve myself more, but…" She paused and then let out a shaky breath. "Somehow I became much worse."

"What are you talking about?" Tony asked, frowning deeply. "Where do you get that idea?"

Sad, hurt eyes lifted to meet his. "From you."

Tony blinked and drew his head back in shock. "What? I have _never_ said that. Or even thought it!"

"You told me you missed the old Ziva," she reminded him.

He nodded slowly, still confused and surprised by her accusation. "I do," he admitted, then added quickly, "But not because I think you're somehow worse or because I'm disappointed with who you are."

"You just don't love who I am now," she said thickly, shrugging one shoulder as if she had already accepted it and it was no longer a big deal. "You found me more loveable when I was hard and unreadable and—"

"Stop it," he cut in. "That's not what I meant."

Ziva didn't respond, but looked at him curiously. Tony took a moment to pace around and dissolve some of the tension, and to get his racing heart to slow down. Ziva stayed quiet, giving him time to get his thoughts in order. When he finally did, he stood right in front of her, looked her in the eye and then explained himself.

"It used to be easier," he said. "You and me. It was easier when all I wanted was to have a lot of sex with you."

Ziva looked caught between laughter and offense. He couldn't blame her; he was close to laughing as well. But he still had some explaining to do.

"I miss the old Ziva because she didn't keep me awake at night thinking about what I'm going to do if she decides to marry that guy." His voice was thin from being pushed through his tight throat, so he swallowed hard before continuing. "Or how I'm going to stand there and smile as she does it. The old Ziva didn't make me think so hard about every single word I said for fear of giving away how I felt about her. The old Ziva was easy to get along with because back then, I didn't know that I would go halfway around the world to get revenge for her death, even though I was pretty sure it would lead to mine. And that I kind of wanted it to."

Ziva's breath caught with his admission, and he watched tears fill her eyes. He had never admitted that aloud before. Had barely allowed himself to form the thought. But it was the truth. When he packed for the horror trip to Somalia, he had not expected to ever return. At the time he was so grief-stricken and lost that he did not see the point. But then she had appeared before him, alive if not well, and he found the will to fight. For her. In that sandy hellhole, he believed that he lived and died with her. He had told her that, hadn't he? Perhaps he needed to remind her.

"When you were the old Ziva, I didn't know that one day, I wouldn't be able to live without you. Or _want_ to live without you. That's why I said I missed the old Ziva."

She stared at him mutely for the longest time. Tony waited it out—waited for some kind of reaction—with shaking hands and tightness in his chest brought on from knowing that he'd just changed their relationship irrevocably. He just didn't know if it would be for the better or for the much, much worse.

Finally, just as he approached the brink of breaking down and begging for a goddamn response, Ziva sniffed back tears, cast her eyes down and then got to her feet. Tony stood his ground and prepared himself for whatever she would say. Even if it was not complimentary, he still needed to hear it. He needed honesty. They'd been lying and pretending for far too long.

Her cheeks and eyelashes were wet when Ziva lifted her head to look at him, but she gave him a small, rueful smile. "I think we need to work on our verbal communication."

He returned the smile. They were great at non-verbal communication, but some thoughts could not be explained or understood from a frown or smile. "I'll add that to the list of behaviors I need to improve before the end of the year," he said.

Her smile briefly grew. "So will I." She took a deep breath and let it out in a quick sigh. "I started a relationship with Ray because you are unattainable. You always have been. Having a long-distance relationship meant that I could feel as thought I was moving on from you, without having to deal with the daily intimacy with someone else. It gave me a sense of control over what was happening between you and I. Ray was kind. And a relationship with him was not wrong."

He started to understand, but he had to disagree. "We're not wrong, Ziva."

"We are against the rules," she reminded him in a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard even discussing the issue.

He dropped his voice in kind and shook his head. "I don't care about the rules."

Ziva looked skeptical. "Not caring about them with EJ is _very_ different to not caring about them with me."

He knew the point she was making. He worked closer with Ziva, which meant countless opportunities to screw up a relationship, working or romantic. But he chose to see the other side of it.

"You're right," he said. "Because we've been to hell and back. We've seen each other's worsts. That cannot be denied. But I still want to break the rules for you."

Ziva cocked her head to the side, incredulous. "You are serious about this," she stated, seemingly just coming to the realization that he was here to fight her until the situation was resolved in the way he wanted it to be. He didn't know why she was so surprised about that. Wasn't that how they usually solved a problem?

"I'm very serious," he told her.

"You _just_ broke up with EJ," she reminded him.

"So?"

"So I am not going to be your rebound fling!" she cried.

It was Tony's turn to be shocked into momentary silence before coming back at her with utter offense. "Do you think that's what I'm doing here?" he asked with disbelief. "I haven't spent six years falling in love with you but pretending that I don't have those feelings just to screw it up now with a month-long affair."

Ziva swiped tears from her cheeks and started pacing the floor in front of him. She held her hands to her mouth as if desperately trying to keep herself together, and then looked at him pleadingly. "Why are you doing this to me?" she asked, her voice tight and thin. "I closed the door on you. Why are you now throwing yourself against it?"

He stepped up to her again and reached out a hand. "Ziva—"

But Ziva pulled away and around him, back towards the door. "Do you have any idea how hard it has been to close myself off from you?" she asked. "To shut down any hope of being with you? And now you are telling me that I can have it?"

Tony chased her. "Yeah, I know how hard it is, Ziva. Because I tried to do it too. But I can't."

"We're hard," Ziva argued, anguish twisting her face. "We're _so hard_, Tony."

"I know," he said, getting a hand on her arm this time. "That's what I told myself when EJ came along. That it was okay to give up on you because you'd already given up on me." He paused as the residual hurt from that stabbed his chest and momentarily stole his breath. "And because we were always going to be so hard. But you know what I've realized?"

Ziva shook her head, her eyes pleading with him not to go on. He ignored her.

"I realized that it can't be harder than this, Ziva. _Nothing_ can be harder than this. Living through every day with you and acting like you're just a friend. That I only love you like I love Abby. This is the hardest thing I've ever done."

Ziva gave him a small nod that told him she knew exactly what he meant. "I know," she said softly.

He dropped his hand down her arm to grip her fingers. "I can't keep standing over here while you're all the way over there," he told her. "I can't keep looking over my shoulder to see who's around before I touch your arm or smile at you. It's too hard. It's exhausting."

"I know," she repeated, but he still heard the fight in her voice. She still wasn't backing down. But neither was he. He had warned her that he was too stubborn to let go, and he hadn't been exaggerating. Now that he was in the middle of this conversation that had terrified him for years, and now that he had confessed how he felt and what he desperately wanted from her without the sky falling in, he wasn't afraid to push it further. In fact, he felt like he was on a roll.

"I want to propose a different way of dealing with this."

Ziva took her hand back and shook her hand firmly. "No."

"I want to give in," he went on. "It's the path of least resistance. It's too hard to live like this, so I'm giving in. The heart wants what it wants, right?"

The statement carried history with it, but Ziva seemed annoyed by it. "That is such an overly romantic statement that just does not apply in the real world," she griped.

"You're the one who said it," he reminded her, but Ziva quickly corrected his memory.

"I didn't!" she insisted. "I do not know where you got this idea in your head," she said, stabbing her index finger towards her forehead. "But I never said it."

Tony frowned. EJ said it the other night, but he'd definitely talked about it with Ziva before. "Somebody said it," he replied.

"It was _you!_" she cried, throwing up her hands with familiar frustration. "You said it."

He shook his head, positive he didn't. Maybe. "I think it was someone else."

Ziva planted her hands on her hips. "Not me."

Tony let it go. The origin of the saying wasn't what was important right now. "Okay, but don't you believe it?"

She sighed heavily. "Yes, I believe it. I _live_ it, Tony. But it is not practical—"

He cut her off with a groan. "Ugh! What do practicalities matter here? Why do you always have to be so practical?"

"Why are you always so emotional?" she shot back.

"I can't help it!"

"Well, neither can I," she said pointedly. She dragged a tired hand through her hair and shot him a knowing look. "This is why—"

"No," he pre-empted, and pointed a warning finger at her. "It's not why we won't work."

Ziva paused and narrowed her eyes. "Why we _fight_," she finished. She lifted an eyebrow that dared him to argue, and Tony tried to look contrite.

"Oh. Yes. It is why we fight."

Ziva accepted his concession, and then they both took a few moments to calm down and regroup. She took a seat at her dining table, and, beginning to tire from the barrage of honesty and emotion, Tony followed her lead.

"Okay," he said, preparing to give it another go. "We both agree that the heart wants what it wants. Practicalities aside."

"Practical is the world I live in," she said evenly.

"No, it's not," he argued with as little argument in his voice as he could manage. "It's not practical to have a long-distance relationship. Or to fall for a dying man. Or to second-guess yourself and me and Gibbs and continue a relationship—"

"This is your grand plan for convincing me to change my mind?" she asked warningly.

"I'm pointing out that you live in an emotional world, not a practical one."

She narrowed her eyes again. "And that has clearly led me to make bad decisions."

"No. You make bad decisions because you don't know how to be happy." It was as true for Ziva as it was for him, Tony was sure of it. As uncomfortable as the charge was to hear, EJ had been right.

Ziva looked fleetingly hurt, but not as surprised by the revelation as Tony had been. She crossed her arms as her eyes darted away from his. "You are going from strength to strength here, DiNozzo," she grumbled. "I cannot wait to hear what you have to say next."

She was being sarcastic, but Tony chose to oblige her. He leaned over the table towards her. "I don't know how to be happy either. And that's what got us here. Neither of us have a clue how to be happy. But we both want it."

Ziva opened her mouth to respond, and he knew from the look in her eye that she was going to argue the point. He spread his hands.

"Oh, you can't possibly ague _that_ point," he said.

Her chest fell as the argument went out of her. "Fine," she allowed. "I want to be happy."

"And you don't think that listening to what your heart wants might help?"

"Of course," Ziva said, but the hopelessness in her voice didn't match the words. "But it is just not that easy."

"Why not?"

She shrugged, completely at a loss to explain it. "I do not know. But no matter what it is with you, whether we are getting along or if we are at odds or if we are somewhere in the middle, it is just always hard."

He conceded her point with a tip of his head, but thought he had the answer to that. "It's because we're lying all the time, Ziva. I share more words with you than anyone else in my life, but you're probably the person I'm the least honest with. And I'm just so sick of that."

He watched tears form in her eyes again as they held gazes. Honestly, he was getting close to crying himself. But then Ziva got up and started pacing again, and Tony decided that he'd keep his mouth shut until she'd gotten her thoughts in order. He knew he had blindsided her today, and that generally Ziva didn't like to be surprised. The fact that she had let him argue with her for as long as she had without physically shoving him out of her house was a good enough sign that despite her protests, she was actually listening to him and considering his proposition. But he also knew that if he kept pushing her without giving her at least a few moments of quiet time to think, chances were very good that she would stop listening all together, throw up her roadblocks and shut him down for good.

Why did she have to be so damn complex?

Tony bit his tongue for almost a full minute while she paced and considered and calmed down. Then she stopped abruptly, gripped the back of the dining chair she had been sitting in and looked down at him apprehensively.

"You think that if we start being honest with each other, then things will get easier, just like that?"

"Not just like that," he said. "But yes, I think it will get better."

"But I was honest with you, Tony," she said with forced calm. "Weeks ago, in that locker room, I was honest with you. And since then things between us have been awful."

He started to roll his eyes but caught himself before he offended her again. "Yeah, because we've been trying to stay away from each other," he said obviously. "And because there have been other parties in the way."

Ziva took his meaning about EJ and Ray, but shook her head. "No other parties have been on the scene for a few weeks now. And our relationship is _still_ awful."

"Residual partying," he counted. "It's the party hangover."

Ziva waved her hands in front of her, signaling for him to stop. "No, it's—"

"But I was at the wrong party," he said, talking over her and getting to his feet. He was ready for round two. Or three or four or whatever they were up to now. "And so were you. That's why we feel sick, right? Because the other parties were serving the wrong drinks. But if you'd just come to my party I would have given you a white rum mojito. Not a vodka one, because that does make you sick. And you would've gotten me a scotch and soda and we would have been fine, you and me."

Ziva considered that quietly for a moment with an impassive expression. "I am beginning to lose patience for this analogy," she informed him. "I need you to speak in plain English."

"I'm just saying that we should have accepted what we both wanted years ago," he said, stepping slowly towards her. "If we did, we'd probably both be happy now. But it's not too late."

Ziva bit her lip as he approached her again. He got to within two feet before she stepped back, and he stopped at the boundary she was currently comfortable with. He could see her crumbling and caving as he continued to push. He knew he was bullying her now, and he hated it. But this relationship was too important to let go. If she were anyone else, he probably would have made a case and then run away with his tail between his legs the first time he was blocked out. But this was Ziva, and he couldn't give up. He was keeping his word to be stubborn about this, and heeding Gibbs' orders to listen to his gut. Despite the emotional ringer he was putting Ziva through now, his gut was telling him to keep going. So although he wanted to apologize for harassing and upsetting her and then leave her until she'd had all the time she needed to think, he wouldn't. He knew how their relationship went. If he walked away now, everything he'd said today would be for nothing. They'd sweep it under the rug and never speak if it again.

Screw that.

"It's not too late, Ziva," he repeated.

Another tear fell down her cheek, and her voice started to crack. "Tony, please hear me. I don't know how to do this with you."

"Neither do I," he said honestly. "But we'll work it out."

"But if we fail, that's worse than never having you."

He took half a step towards her, feeling her resistance beginning to weaken. "No, if we fail, then we fail," he said softly, not wanting to scare her away now. "But at least we'll know. Don't you want to know?"

Another tear fell as Ziva shook her head.

"Yes, you do. And you want it to work."

She looked away into the kitchen, avoiding looking at him. Tony stepped right up to her until their chests were almost touching, and his heart slammed so hard he could feel his whole body rocking from it as he reached out and held her wrists gently in his hands.

"Look at me," he whispered.

Ziva shook her head softly again and closed her eyes, setting more tears free.

"_Please_, Ziva."

He listened to her harsh, shallow and shuddering breaths as she battled herself over what to do. He understood why it was hard. She had made a decision—one that she was sure was the best for everyone—and now he was asking her to change her mind. She's been as hurt by their relationship as he had been over the years, and thought that walking away from it would help her heal. But now he was suggesting that a better way to do that would be to do the opposite. If she did things her way, she could control how much pain she would suffer. If she did it his way, it meant giving up control and potentially exposing herself to even worse pain if they just couldn't make it work. He had never known Ziva to relinquish control very easily, so he just had to pray that he'd convinced her that he—that the two of them _together_—was worth the leap of faith.

He put his hand to her cheek to pull her closer, and Ziva's eyes opened again at the touch. "Ziva, I want to know," he told her, and stroked her cheek with is thumb as he took a breath for courage. "I love you. And I need you, because you get me. And I want to know."

Fresh tears slid down Ziva's cheeks as she laid her hands on his chest. Either she would push him away or pull him closer. Tony tempted fate and leant into the touch, and moved his hands to her hips to draw her closer. She didn't resist, but she didn't encourage him either.

"Are you going to screw me around, Tony?" she asked in a hush. "Are you going to use me or lie to me?"

He sighed heavily and dipped his head until his forehead touched hers. "I've always had your back, Ziva."

She sniffed back her tears. "I know. But I have been so terribly wrong about others in the past. And if you betrayed me…I do not think I could recover from that."

He leant back just far enough to look her in the eyes. "I'm not going to let you down," he promised solemnly. "I'm not going to lie to you. I have your back. And I know we can do this. Yeah?"

Ziva's face crumbled before her hands on his chest curled into fists around his shirt and she pulled herself against him. Tony felt the stiffness in her body melt away, and in the next moment her soft, hot lips were on his. At first he wasn't sure whether the kiss was a hello or a final goodbye, but as it got more desperate and intense and her hands pulled him closer, he understood that he'd finally gotten through to her. He kissed her back with all the intensity he felt, feeding his need to have her as close as possible and leaving no room to doubt that he would throw himself at this relationship completely. And if he read Ziva's intent behind her kiss correctly, she would meet him right in the middle.

He lost his breath too quickly and broke the kiss to pant against her. Ziva looked up at him with dark, molten eyes that sent his blood pressure soaring. He swallowed hard, and double-checked that he had read the situation right before he let himself make a few life-long promises to himself. "Yes?"

Ziva closed her eyes and nodded, as if reaffirming her decision to herself. "Yes," she whispered. "I love you. Yes."

A wide smile broke over his face, and although his heart still pounded incredibly hard, the pain associated with his previous panic dissolved. He slid his arms around her back as Ziva smiled back at him—a real, open, honest smile—and resisted the urge to shout a _hallelujah! _to the heavens.

"You're going to have my back," he stated, loving the new twist to the vow and the relief it brought to know that she'd be there for good to kiss and adore every day for the rest of his life.

Ziva stretched to give him a quick, soft kiss before giving him a look of blatant love that smashed his heart in the best possible way. "Tony, I will always have your back."

Despite the fight she'd put up today, he believed her. Because Ziva David had always been as stubborn as hell.

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**I'm very nervous about this, but I just hope that the payoff was worth the angst that came before it. One more chapter to go. My continued gratitude to everyone who takes the time to read, and particularly to those who take the time to review. **

**Slightly off topic (and a comment that will date quickly), how good was Shabbat Shalom? Hoo-boy. Roll on Shiva.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Just a short but necessary chapter to wrap it up. Sorry it's late. I ended up completely rewriting it.  
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

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"You want to pull or you want to push?"

Ziva looked from the heavy table that she and Tony had carried from the elevator on the top floor of his apartment building and then up at the flight of stairs leading to the roof. Getting the table this far hadn't been too difficult thanks to the wider corridors and large elevator in his building, but the stairs to the roof were steep and narrow and she didn't fancy either role. She planted her hands on her hips and looked at her partner.

"The smart thing to do would have been to find a cheap, light, plastic table to use tonight."

Tony made a face like he hadn't considered that, but then shrugged it off. "Well, the smart people haven't arrived yet. Pull or push, Supergirl?"

Ziva moved to the end of the table nearest the stairs. "You weigh more," she pointed out. "It makes more sense for you to push from behind."

Tony flashed her a childish smile a moment before she recognized her accidental double entendre. "Agreed," he said. "Great minds think alike, Ziva."

"We just established that we do not have great minds," she pointed out.

Tony shrugged again and went to the other end of the table. "Yeah, but you and me have great sex minds that think alike, and that counts for something." He bent his knees and prepared to push the table up the stairs. "One, two, three…"

Ziva lifted her end of the table and started climbing backwards up the stairs. Together, she and Tony managed to climb clumsily up the narrow passageway to the roof without injuring themselves (although the walls and table were a little worse for wear), and then carried the table over to the stack of folding chairs they'd already carried up. They dumped the table with a thud, and then Tony straightened to stretch out his back.

"We're not bringing that down again tonight," he declared, wincing as he arched his back. "Maybe not even tomorrow. Or we could make McGee and Jimmy do it."

"McGee with the bullet wound in his leg?" Ziva asked pointedly, swatting at his arm as she passed him and headed for the bowls of snacks they'd left teetering on the roof ledge.

"Oh, right," Tony said. "Well, we can make one of the other guests do it."

She gathered bowls of chips, crackers and dips and stacked them carefully in her arms. "How many agents, cops and detectives are coming tonight?" she asked over her shoulder.

"A lot."

"Surely one of them thinks highly enough of you to be helpful."

"Yeah, maybe," Tony said, and then headed for the speakers they'd carried up earlier in the day. "They're supposed to be celebrating my birthday, but some will be here just for the free food and beer."

She started unfolding the chairs and positioning them around the roof as Tony fiddled with connecting the speakers to his iPod dock. "How long has it been since you have seen some of these people?"

"I don't know," Tony said distractedly. "Not long, for some. A couple of years for others."

"Years?"

"Yeah. Couple of guys from Baltimore. Couple of agents from different agencies."

Ziva nodded to herself and thought that over. Tony had been through a couple of different phases of his life just in the time she had known him, and more in the time since he'd been a detective in Baltimore. She wondered how many of the people coming tonight knew him as Tony, the sweet romantic with eyes on a wife and kids and a house in the suburbs. How many would know him as Tony, the serial dater who balked at commitment? How many would know him as Tony, the focused investigator with no time for a personal life? How many knew him as an athlete? A joker? A risk-taker? A fighter? And how many would find it hard to believe that he'd committed himself (albeit only in the last few weeks) to a woman who looked and sounded like her and was in the same field of work? She certainly had not predicted it when they first met.

She recalled that right back in the beginning she had thought he was just another over-confident, hormonal frat boy who talked too much, joked too much and clung too hard to the little power he had over her and McGee. She had been attracted to him physically (although she had not been entirely proud of the fact), and perhaps if they had met in slightly different circumstances she would have slept with him and then left and never thought of him again. It hurt her heart to think of what she would have missed out on if she had not forced herself to get over her own arrogance and look a little deeper at who he really was. And she was glad that she had never given into any of the urges she'd had along the way to jam a stapler down his throat. Because she didn't think that she'd ever find anyone else to love like she loved him. And she knew without a doubt that there would never be anyone else who would be able to get past all her flaws and history to love her like he did.

She looked across the roof and smiled indulgently at his back as he stood in front of the speakers with his hands on his hips. In the last few weeks she'd found herself thanking God almost daily that Tony had been braver than her and stubbornly held on to his belief that the two of them could make a relationship work. Especially in the face of her repeated rejection. Because he had been right; she _did_ want to know if they would work out. And their relationship _couldn't_ be harder than their constant denials of the last few years. So far things had been pretty easy (lots of sex made them both pretty relaxed and agreeable), but she didn't doubt that they had a lot of ups and downs ahead of them. The trick to coping with the downs would be to remember that they'd already been to hell and back together, and they'd gotten through it. If they truly wanted to make it work, they could.

Ziva smiled to herself as a bubble of warmth grew in her chest. She wasn't used to feeling so optimistic about the future, but she was determined to enjoy it. And she was determined to be as good to Tony as he was to her. That meant she owed him an explanation.

As Tony finally figured out how to connect the speakers properly, Ziva headed over to the cooler that they'd filled with beer, spirits and champagne. She dug through the ice to find two cold bottles of beer, and carried them over to Tony as Frank Sinatra started crooning and Tony looked at her proudly.

"Hey, I did it!" he said. "I didn't need McGee or Abby."

She handed him a bottle of beer. "You are very clever," she purred, teasing him but making up for it with a kiss.

Tony frowned with suspicion and looked her up and down. "You're paying me a compliment," he said. "Why? What are you planning?"

Ziva knew he was teasing her back, and rolled her eyes. He would probably make jokes like that for the rest of their lives. As long as it was always a joke, she didn't mind.

"It would be no fun if I told you," she replied.

She clinked her beer bottle against his and led him over to the brick wall on the eastern side of the building. As she looked out to the darkening sky, Tony turned and faced the sunset. Ziva closed her eyes to enjoy the gentle breeze on her face, the faint smell of Tony's cologne and the warmth of the day clinging to her skin. She smiled at the sense of peace they brought.

"We should do this more often," she said to Tony.

She felt Tony's lips brush over her bare shoulder. "Hang out on the roof?"

"It is peaceful," she said, and took a few sips of cold beer.

"I used to do this a bit," Tony told her. "Birthday tradition when we're not working a case. Haven't you been to one of these before?"

Ziva opened her eyes to shoot him the briefest of glares. "No. I have not had the pleasure."

Tony looked down at her as he searched for the reason. "Oh. Well I guess someone's always in Israel or Mexico or—" He stopped abruptly and took a shallow breath, and his eyes filled with pain before he dropped her gaze.

Ziva reached the same thought he had, and swallowed hard as her heart started pounding. "Somalia," she finished. She still thought about her time in captivity regularly, but the thoughts didn't usually come out of nowhere to surprise her when she wasn't ready for them. But sometimes they did, and she had to take a few deep breaths and remind herself a few times that she was safe and it was over. She kept her eyes open to look at the buildings and streets around her and concentrated on her breathing. It took a minute, but she was able to calm down. She tilted her head back to look up at Tony and found him staring at her with pain and apology. She put her hand on his arm and smiled for him.

"It's all right," she told him.

Tony rolled his eyes at himself and gave a bitter snort. "Yeah, it's all right that you're having a peaceful moment up here and I bring that up."

Ziva pressed herself against him. "Tony, it's all right," she repeated. "We are both here and safe. It's all right."

Tony sighed heavily and ran his thumb across her cheekbone as he cupped her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"I know," she said softly, and raised herself on her tiptoes to kiss him. "I love you for coming for me," she told him, wishing she had told him that before.

Tony put his beer down on the wall and wrapped both arms around her. "I had to," he said with a shrug.

Ziva took another deep breath. "I am sorry that I let things get so bad between us. That I did not listen to you. I was so confused at the time."

"I know," he said with a nod. "I think we both owe each other apologies, but let's just be good to each other now."

She smiled. "Yes. Let's do that."

Tony returned her smile and gave her another quick kiss before they parted. Ziva leaned her hip against the wall to face him, and waited until he had swallowed his beer before bringing Somalia up again.

"Tony, I want to tell you what happened there." At his cautious look, she chuckled and shook her head. "I do not mean right now. But soon. I want to tell you."

Tony licked his lips nervously. "You don't have to put yourself through it for me."

Ziva shook her head again. "No, it is important that you know," she said. "If we continue this relationship—and I want to—I think it is important that you know what happened."

He watched her quietly for a moment before finally nodding. "Whenever you're ready."

She squeezed his arm in thanks and then quickly glanced at her watch. People would be arriving to help celebrate Tony's birthday soon, but she thought she might have enough time to tell him something she had wanted to say since the day he'd come to her apartment and fought for their future.

"There is something else I want to talk to you about."

Tony paused with his beer almost at his lips and looked at her with apprehension. "Something that will make me want to drink a lot afterwards?" he asked slowly.

Ziva frowned and shook her head. She didn't understand his reaction. "No. Although you were planning on drinking a lot tonight anyway, yes?"

"Yeah," he said, then 'tsk'ed to himself. "I just get nervous when women say there's something they want to talk about."

Ziva chuckled and kicked his foot gently. "Relax," she told him.

Tony poured the rest of his beer down his throat, put the bottle down and then nodded at her. "Okay. What's up?"

Ziva slid her hand down his arm and threaded her fingers through his. "I want to make sure that you know that I want this," she told him.

Tony's eyebrows went up for a fleeting moment and he cocked his head to the side. "What are you talking about?"

She pressed herself closer to him again. It was a habit she had picked up lately that she was unwilling to break. "When you came to my apartment and told me that you wanted to do this…" She paused as comprehension came over his face, followed by a soft smile. "Tony, I never wanted to make you beg or fight or prove yourself. I wanted to say yes straight away. Because I do want this. More than anything."

Tony's eyes flicked down briefly, but before he could respond she pushed on to make sure that he knew how deeply she felt this.

"I had been trying so hard to talk myself out of it and let you go, and I just thought…" She paused and tried to find the words to explain how she'd felt. "I was scared that if I went back on my decision, which had been so hard to make to begin with, and then everything fell apart around me, then I would not know how to deal with that. Or what move to make next."

Tony nodded and gave her half a smile. "Yeah. I figured. You're not that hard to work out sometimes, you know that?"

She was pleased to hear that, because she had no intention of being an enigma to him. "I just wanted to say it," she told him. "So that you knew, instead of assumed. I do not want you to think that I only gave in because you would not give up. My hesitation had _nothing_ to do with you. I wanted to say yes straight away."

Tony's smile reached the other side of his face, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer. "Yeah, well I'm pretty irresistible."

He was making light of it, but she could see something in his eyes that told her he'd needed to hear it. Tony was such a large personality that it was easy to forget how insecure he could really be about being loved. Ziva had to remember to make sure he would never doubt her.

"I love you," she told him, and then smiled with the release of endorphins telling him that still gave her. "I have loved you for a long time. And I promise that when things get hard, as we both expect they will," she pause as they shared a knowing smile, "I will keep trying. I will not give up again. I will not walk away. I promise you. That is what I wanted to talk to you about."

Tony took a moment before responding, and used the time to brush her hair back from her face and tuck it behind her ears. His eyes started to fill with tears, but with a blink and a hard swallow, he sent them away and kept his composure. "Thank you," he said thickly, and with so much sincerity that Ziva knew she should have told him weeks ago. "I promise you I'm not going to give up either."

She didn't doubt him for a second. If there was one thing Tony could be relied on for, it was his loyalty. She stretched to kiss him again, and after a few moments Tony pushed them away from the wall and walked her a few paces backwards towards the middle of the roof. She broke the kiss to look up at him in question, and he grinned at her.

"Dance with me."

Ziva tuned back in to Frank Sinatra crooning over the speakers and slid her arm around his back. "I did not know that you liked to dance."

"I don't," he admitted, and laughed with her. "Except slow dancing. I like that. I'm good at that." He held her hand in his against his chest and started swaying her slowly around the roof. She let him lead her wherever he wanted.

"Happy birthday, Tony."

Tony unleashed a big, signature DiNozzo smile, the one that she had missed so much during the months they had spent at odds. "It's been a pretty good one, Ziva," he said. "And many more to come."

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**That's it! Thanks again to everyone who has been reading along, who has marked this as a favorite or marked it for alert. And a special thanks to those of you who have reviewed, be it once or twice or every single chapter. I've said it so many times but to repeat it again, I am terrible at responding to reviews. But I am extremely appreciative of the comments you've all left.**

**Not related to the story, but it was an FAQ in comments from the last chapter: Shiva was close to perfect and I have declared it to be my favorite episode. **


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